


Little But Not Less

by sareyen



Series: Tales from Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:16:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareyen/pseuds/sareyen
Summary: "Pointing out my... average height every time you see me is one thing," Lavellan replied, nose twitching in annoyance. The little movement caused Dorian's stomach to flip. "I am quite tall for an elf, mind you.""Of course you are, considering you always have your head held so high. It's a wonder how your neck hasn't dislodged itself from your shoulders yet."Just small moments between Dorian and Lavellan, whose height seems to be a recurrent theme in their (heated) conversations.(Repost from my Wattpad)





	1. Little But Not Less

"Do you need some help with that?" a smooth voice chuckled from behind him. Gael Lavellan let out an indignant grunt, falling back on his heels to turn around, ropy arms crossing over a slender, lithe chest. The blatantly displeased gleam in Lavellan's eyes pulled the corners of Dorian's lips up with amusement as he sauntered over to the Inquisitor, who had been trying to reach a book - and miserably failing - on the top shelf of the achingly lacklustre library.

"Do I look like I need help?," Lavellan snapped, his voice crisper than the Frostback air lazily drifting through the slits in the windows. For a moment, Dorian allowed himself to be once again surprised by the incongruence of Lavellan's deep, rich voice and his, well, _petite stature_. Judging only by looks, Dorian didn't think anyone would hazard a guess that this tiny elf would possess a voice that could make legions of the faithful kiss the ground beneath his feet. Which were endearingly small as well, Dorian noted, encased in tight leather boots with the laces undone at the muscle below his knee. Dorian let his eyes trail up the Inquisitor's body slowly, appreciating his clothes not for their style - the _pyjamas_ were hideous, Dorian's upper-class tastes churning every time he saw them - but for the way they clung to every curve of Lavellan's frame, hugging the lean muscles that strained as he'd reached for the book.

"If I were to be honest, no, you don't," Dorian said, leaning on the side of the book case, eyes peering down at Lavellan, whose frown settled deeper into his face, the olive vallaslin on his lower lip moving enticingly. Grinning again, Dorian's eyes met the Inquisitor's own narrowed orbs. "But, as you know, I am not an honest man."

"Evidently," Lavellan replied curtly, eyes lingering on Dorian's for a moment, before steeling themselves on the book he was hunting.

"Now, now, no need to get your smallclothes in a twist. If you ask me sweetly, I can get it for you. I am assuming you're looking at... Genitivi? I am not honest, but I am exceedingly generous." Dorian bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the laugh that climbed up his throat as Lavellan whirled around, vallaslin scrunched up between his brows. Lavellan tooks two graceful - and positively angry - steps towards Dorian, stopping until he was toe-to-toe with the foreign mage. Dorian felt Lavellan's own magic sizzling in the space between them, prickling his skin. Although Dorian was looking down at him, standing almost two heads taller than the elf, Lavellan's innate power made it feel as if he were towering over him instead.

_Ah, this is the elf that stood against an ancient darkspawn magister as he toppled a mountain on himself to save his people. Was this the prideful look his eyes held back then?_

For all the teasing that Dorian handed the Inquisitor, he could not deny that the elf hadn't change the way he looked at the world. There had never been an elf like Lavellan in Dorian's life before, no elf that had looked him in the eye with such clarity and purpose. Unwavering, unyielding, and unapologetically proud. _Proud_ of who he is, something that made Dorian's throat clench as his own insecurities threatened to choke him. It wasn't until that day in the Redcliffe chantry that Dorian realized that he had never looked an elf in the face before. _Properly_ looked. Heads always lowered, scurrying on the outskirts of the room, allowing themselves only to have enough of a presence so that the highborn Altus knew they were there waiting to peel his grapes. Just small figures with pointed ears blending into the walls. But the moment Gael walked in, back straight, frosted white hair cascading loosely to his shoulders and an eerie green glow dancing at his fingertips, Dorian felt the world freeze. It could have been because of Alexius' time magic, or the gaping mouth of the fade swirling beside him, but in that moment, all Dorian could see were those eyes. They were nothing Dorian had ever known before. Dorian didn't know if it was because he was Dalish, born amongst the trees and the mountains with his bare feet soaking in streams and trekking across grasslands, his untamed childhood reflected in the speckled green of his irises. He had no other Dalish elves to compare him to, yet deep down, Dorian knew that Gael was unlike any other elf he would ever meet.

He was unlike any other _person_ Dorian would ever meet.

"You're not in the North any more, _Altus_ ," Lavellan said slowly, teeth flashing at the Tevinter title. "You may be able to look down on elves where you're from, but here, there are elves that don't take kindly to being belittled. Especially by a _Shem_."

"You wound me, Inquisitor," Dorian replied smoothly, trying not to grin too broadly. "Whatever have I done to make you so displeased by my presence?"

"Pointing out my... _average_ height every time you see me is one thing," Lavellan replied, nose twitching in annoyance. The little movement caused Dorian's stomach to flip. "I am quite tall for an elf, mind you."

"Of course you are, considering you always have your head held so high. It's a wonder how your neck hasn't dislodged itself from your shoulders yet," Dorian smiled, eyes crinkling. The annoyed creases in Lavellan's face faltered for a moment, before his eyes narrowed again, head tilting to the side as he weighed Dorian's words in his head.

"Is that disapproval I sense? The almighty Tevinter Altus, abhorred by the fact that a mere knife-ear would dare to have any sort of self-worth?" Lavellan's magic sizzled again, back straightening even further. Dorian was silent for a moment, before shaking his head, eyes softening, lips unfurling into a gentler, _honest_ smile.

"No... Quite the opposite, actually." Dorian paused again, as Lavellan raised a curious brow. Dorian almost missed the way the tips of his ears reddened slightly.

"If not disapproval, then what?"

Dorian felt his smile grow as he leaned down, holding his lips close to Lavellan's ear. Lavellan stiffened, but did not move away.

"Rather than disapproval, I believe captivated is a more apt description," Dorian breathed, as Lavellan's magic snapped as the mage loosened a surprised breath. Dorian's chuckle trickled through Gael, whose lips were straining to suppress the smile that was starting to bloom. "You are indeed quite captivating, Inquisitor."

"You really aren't an honest man, _Dorian_ ," Lavellan replied, eyes dancing with the smile that he tried to hide on his face. Before Dorian could sear the image of Gael's smiling eyes into his memory, the elf had turned and lightly jumped onto the second shelf of books, plucking Genitivi from the top shelf before jumping down, the sound of his feet a light thump on the stone. The small smirk he shot Dorian before making his way down the stairs caused Dorian to shiver.

_Captivating indeed._


	2. Soporati

Dorian collapsed elegantly on a cloth he had laid out on a fallen tree trunk, sighing heavily as he sunk into the shade. He rubbed his eyes, the day impossibly bright in the Emerald Graves. Cassandra was sitting on another stump by the water, scrubbing Maker knows what off her armour, mouth set in a deep scowl. He heard an emphatic disgusted noise escape her pursed lips as she dunked her hands into the stream, the water around them turning a murky red colour. Varric was perched on top of a mound of rocks, quill scratching on the rough pages of a leather-bound book. Every now and then he would look up at Cassandra and catch her staring, causing the Seeker to hastily turn away with reddened cheeks. _'Varric must be writing the next chapter of Swords and Shields,_ ' Dorian thought, rolling his eyes. How anyone could enjoy that syrupy mess of a novel was beyond him.

The group had been trekking across the Emerald Graves for just shy of a week, closing rifts and eliminating Red Templar camps. Dorian had been eager to get out of Skyhold and stretch his limbs, his dimly lit nook in the library starting to close in on him. And being able to spend time with Gael without the prying eyes of snickering Orlesian nobles and suspicious Chantry sisters gazing upon their every move. Dorian wasn't the only one who noticed that the Inquisitor was spending more and more time in the library, claiming a forgotten pile of books as a makeshift chair in Dorian's little space. When Dorian first joined the Inquisition, Lavellan had almost gone out of his way to avoid Dorian, only speaking to him curtly about Tevinter, Dorian regrettably causing the elf to storm off after their heated chat about slavery.

But now, for reasons Dorian could not begin to fathom, the elf had started visiting his area of Skyhold at least one a day, oftentimes more. Whenever he could spare a moment from running around all corners of Skyhold, Gael was found sitting in Dorian's nook with his fingers eagerly combing through arcane texts, excitedly catching Dorian's attention when he found something interesting. He would leap up, lips moving wildly about fade theory, and plop himself next to Dorian so he could point out passages in his texts. Dorian had been shocked speechless on multiple accounts the first time this happened; the fact that the elf could read, the fact that the elf liked to read, the fact that the elf was passionate about magic, and the fact that this passion had made the mage overcome his blatant distaste for Dorian enough that he was smiling and leaning into him.

_"Are you even listening to me, Dorian?" Lavellan frowned, lowering the book in his hands. "If I'm bothering you, I can go and re-"_

_"No!" Dorian shouted, causing Lavellan to jump. "No, I mean, well, no. It's perfectly fine, I was just.. lost in thought for a moment. You were talking about primal magic, yes?" Dorian could feel his cheeks heating, but knew that his tanned skin would disguise most of the blush._

_"Lost in thought about what?" Lavellan asked, putting the book aside, eyes locked onto Dorian's curiously. His lips then quirked into an almost invisible smirk, but his eyes shone. "Me?" The word was barely a breath, Lavellan's vallaslin wrinkling as he raised a brow. Dorian felt his mouth matching Lavellan's in a grin._

_"Just surprised that I have met someone who is as passionate about magic as me," Dorian replied, pointing to the book on Lavellan's lap. "And I didn't know that you could..."_

_"Read?" Lavellan finished for him, causing Dorian to nod. "My Keeper taught me how to read a little Common Tongue, and whenever we passed by human cities I would try to get my hands on as many books as I could to teach myself. Mostly about magic, of course, but reading was always a hobby of mine... though no one else in my Clan felt the same way. Hunting was a more popular hobby, as you can imagine."_

_"But you're quite apt at that too, I've noticed," Dorian chuckled. "You ought to be, considering you manage to kill someone just walking to the dining hall."_

_"I don't kill that many people," Lavellan said slowly, before laughing as Dorian gave him an overly incredulous look. His laugh was free and light, making the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, the Inquisitor's seemingly permanent scowl disappearing for the briefest of moments. "Fine. I haven't killed that many people today. We'll see how the winds blow tomorrow."_

_"Well, just don't go killing people without me, yes?" Dorian replied, as Lavellan opened his book again, but didn't move back to his seat across the nook. Dorian tried to ignore the way Lavellan's warmth by his side made his fingers tingle. Lavellan looked up at him again, eyes achingly gentle._

_"I wouldn't dream of it."_

Dorian found himself smiling as he watched Gael now, jumping up on his toes as he strained to harvest a thick bundle of Arbor Blessing hanging high above his head. Dorian stifled a laugh as Lavellan's frown deepened as his fingers barely brushed the lowest bristles.

"If you keep staring at our dear Inquisitor like that I may have to write a book about you two," Varric's gravelly voice whispered, the dwarf settling beside Dorian on the log.

"Oh? And what would this book of yours be about?"

"Romance," Varric grinned, nudging the mage with his shoulder. Dorian scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest to still his quickening heart.

"No wonder your best works are all _fiction_ , Varric," Dorian quipped, which only made Varric's grin widen. _"What now?"_

"You can keep denying it, Sparkler, but those calf eyes you're making at our friend here tell us all we need to know," Varric said, gesturing to Lavellan, who had dragged an impossibly heavy stone underneath the mass of herbs, climbing on to it gracefully. Dorian suppressed another smile as Gael's face lit up as he stuffed expertly harvested plant into a pouch by his waist, before clapping his hands together to remove the dirt.

"I do _not_ make 'calf eyes'," Dorian sighed, shaking his head with exaggerated flair. "And you may not have noticed from down there, but the Inquisitor and I are hardly close enough to warrant that sort of petty gossip."

"That's not what all the 'petty gossip' has been saying, Sparkler. You do realise our little elven friend takes the long route every time he goes to the war room? He does it to pass by _you_. Everyone has noticed, even those down here." Varric pointed to himself, before directing a smug grin at the Tevinter, who just rolled his grey eyes in a bid to act nonchalant. He had noticed the increasing attention Lavellan had been giving him lately, but hadn't wanted to think that he did so with any special affection. It was only a mere few weeks ago that he was positive that the elf abhorred his entire being, but somewhere along the way the ice had thawed. Dorian didn't know what he had done, or what the elf had thought he'd done, to change the way the Inquisitor felt about him. But one thing he was sure about was that the Inquisitor merely thought of him as a _friend_ , even if only by a minute amount. To believe that he thought of Dorian as anything more was...

' _Kaffas_ ,' Dorian silently swore, tearing his eyes away from the Inquisitor again. Dorian had always been a master at hiding his emotions, a skill that had been instilled in him since birth. The upper echelons of the Tevinter Imperium did not look upon raw emotion kindly, especially not his father. Every hushed tryst and affair with whatever willing man Dorian had fleetingly laid with in bed had been just that. _Hushed_. Simple shadows drifting into his bed at night and disappearing with the light of the morning. Dorian didn't believe he wore emotion very well, although he knew everything else was definitely made more fashionable when draped on _his_ body. But just a few months spent being hated and then being trusted by Gael had thrown that all out the window. If everyone in Skyhold could see this budding attraction, how much had Gael unraveled him already?

"I have gathered all there is here. We should head back to camp before it gets dark. Don't want giants dropping boulders on you from the shadows," Gael suddenly called, stuffing a final bunch of leaves into his pouch. Cassandra gave her cloth one last wring, glaring at the dark stain smeared across it, before making her way to the group. Varric just gave Dorian a long, knowing glance before walking to Cassandra to catch her in conversation. Before Dorian could notice, the two had taken several long strides ahead of Gael and himself, leaving the two behind as they made their way back to the camp. Dorian sent a crackle of Storm energy to Varric's ankle, the dwarf stumbling.

"What were you and Varric talking about? I thought his grin would tear his face in half," Gael asked, head tilting to the side as it always did when he was curious, eyes gleaming. Dorian met Gael's eyes, and felt his heart clenching. _Stop this, Dorian, or you'll lower yourself to that of a damned Soporati._

Considering himself for a moment, Dorian schooled his face into one of mediocre interest, mouth pulling into a half smile.

"Just talking about how you sometimes seem to be as tall as a dwarf, especially when you're pulling weeds from the air," he said, his half smile become a full one as Gael's vallaslin creased in annoyance.

" _Fenedhis!_ I swear to the Creators I'll-" Gael grumbled, before sending a jolt of electricity into Dorian's side. Dorian's yelp was smothered by that of his laughter as the elf stomped off to catch up to Varric, mumbling in Elven under his breath.

_Maker, this elf may make me a Soporati yet._


	3. It's the Company That Sweetens the Drink - Part I

Gael blew on the surface of his ceramic cup, steam wafting over the chipped edges as the warm brew rippled. The bartender sighed heavily, slapping a damp towel over his shoulder before pouring a tankard of ale for another patron. As his tea cooled in his hands, Gael took a tender sip of the golden liquid, lips curling upwards in contentment as the earthy aroma bathed his tongue.

"Do you not have any more... _refined_ wines?" a slightly miffed voice pompously asked, and Gael snorted as the bartender crossed his arm across his burly chest, thick black arm hair bristling. "No Rowan's Rose?" Silence. "West Hill Brandy?" Silence. "What about Mackay's Epic Single Malt? You must have at least one bottle of that hanging about?" Gael almost inhaled his tea as the bartender's bald head turned a bright berry red, his vein throbbing with every word that left that honeyed tongue. 

"You may have to lower your standards here, Dorian," Gael spoke, cradling his cheek in his palm as he leaned on the counter, head turning towards the Tevinter mage who was stroking the tip of his chin impatiently. Dorian sighed heavily, pulling up the seat next to Gael. 

"Very well then. I'll have whatever he's having," Dorian said, gesturing to the cup in Gael's hands. The bartender raised a brow, but didn't say anything as he thrust a cup of hot liquid in front of Dorian, the bitter aroma making Dorian's nose wrinkle. Dorian raised the cup to his nose, taking a deep breath before elegantly sliding the cup away from him. "This isn't poison, is it?" Dorian looked at the Inquisitor accusingly, causing him to chuckle lightly and take a long, pointed sip of his drink.

"It's tea," Gael said simply, as he swallowed the mouthful. "I don't drink alcohol."

"Fasta vass," Dorian gasped, hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offence. "How do you _live_?"

"I live quite well, thank you for asking," Gael grinned, swapping his empty cup with Dorian's full one and taking a sip. "You should try some."

"Well, I did once, and that lukewarm weed water nearly killed me. Got the hives and everything, my mother had to send for the healers. Absolutely horrendous," Dorian shivered.

"Tea makes you ill?" Gael asked, tilting his head to the side curiously. Dorian nodded, entering a spiel about how his cousin's cousin's neighbour's second aunt's adopted daughter (the one with the monobrow, Dorian emphasised) had invited him over for tea, and the unfortunate incident his stripweed allergy had caused. Gael warmed at the fact that he had learned another thing about Dorian, whom he had felt withdrawing from him in the past few days. He had felt a slight change in Dorian, as if he was more reserved around him, but had pushed the feeling down. Dorian had become an important existence to him, but he felt that it was only a one-sided feeling, and that Dorian did not value him to the same extent that he valued the Tevinter. 

Gael could only smile tightly as Dorian pestered the bartender for a tankard of anything _but_ tea, managing to complain about the 'watered down pig's piss called ale' that was handed to him. After the bartender began to ignore Dorian out of pure frustration, the two of them settled into the corner of the bar, quietly sipping their respective drinks whilst trying to ignore the curious stares of the other tavern-goers. Despite it being common knowledge that the Tevinter often accompanied the Inquisitor on official (and unofficial) assignments, seeing them together always sparked flurries of hushed whispers and sideway glances.

No matter how much Gael or the inner circle trusted Dorian, the majority of the Inquisition's forces were still wary of the Tevinter mage. Dorian couldn't care less about the insignificant rumours that poured from the mouths of simple Southerners, and found some of the theories about his intentions mildly amusing, particularly when the Inquisitor co-starred in some quite risque scenarios, though still tame by Tevinter standards. The only thing that bothered him was how Gael seemed incredibly uncomfortable with the attention that the pair always garnered when they were spotted together. Part of him hoped that this was just because he wasn't used to being at the centre of the rumour mill, and not because of his discomfort with Dorian himself.

Dorian had been careful about his interactions with the Inquisitor, especially after Varric called him out for his so-called 'calf eyes'. Excited conversations about magical theory, yes, by all means charge on ahead. But discreet waist grazing and shoulder bumping? Dangerous. Dorian paled as he remembered the rudimentary manuscripts he had seen sitting on Varric's desk a few days back.

_"Inquisit Me - A Forbidden Romance by Varric Tethras."_

Dorian hadn't hesitated in burning the thin stack of parchment into the Fade. Dorian winced with the memory and nearly choked on his watery ale.

"Are you alright, Dorian?" Gael asked, his lips fighting to suppress an amused smile. Dorian cleared his throat, before tweaking the tip of his exquisitely styled moustache with his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, just recovering from learning that you haven't had a drop of alcohol since you learned how to swallow," Dorian recovered, pointing to his half empty tankard.

"It's not that I've never had it before," Gael sighed, tucking his ashen hair behind a pointed ear, revealing small silver piercings that glimmered in the candlelight. "It's just... not for me."

"Well I don't think _this_ disgusting brew is for anyone, to be completely honest!" Dorian cried out, Gael's eyes crinkling as he loosed a laugh. The bartender straightened his back as he sent Dorian a glare, the Tevinter shrugging it off. "Sometimes it isn't the drink that's the problem, it's the company. I think you should try some again, you have much better company this time, I assure you."

"Do I?" Gale asked wryly, leaning forward on his elbows, causing Dorian to swallow thickly. Gael's hair slipped from behind his ear, the light locks falling across his pink lips, still wet with the remnants of his tea.

"Have you _looked_ at me?" Dorian asked, feigning incredulity once again, making Gael laugh. "Just have a little bit, it only vaguely tastes like sewer water. It's really quite palatable." Gael looked at the tankard, brow furrowed with concern, before glancing at Dorian's face. Sighing, Gael grabbed the tankard from Dorian's large hands, and stared into the Tevinter's eyes as he slowly drained the rest of the tankard, wiping the excess off his lips with the back of a hand. Gael's lips curled upwards in a devilish smile as he slammed the tankard down, the table rattling.

_"There's a reason why I don't drink, Dorian. Do you want to see why?"_


	4. It's the Company That Sweetens the Drink - Part II

_"There's a reason why I don't drink, Dorian. Do you want to know why?"_

Dorian gulped, the Inquisitor's glimmering eyes half-lidded and tantalising. As Gael leaned over the small table, his earthy scent filling the air around him, Dorian almost couldn't breathe. Lips quirking upwards, Gael's fingers looped under a buckle on Dorian's chest, pulling him forwards. Noses bumped, breaths shared. Dorian felt his cheeks flush as Gael's lips hovered in front of his own, the gloss of ale glinting on his lips. He almost didn't notice when Gael's lips grazed his own. The touch was so light and fleeting Dorian could have mistaken it for a breath. 

Gael suddenly giggled as he jumped up from his chair, his own cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment or arousal. _He was drunk._

"Kaffas, he's drunk?" Dorian gasped, as Gael spun around on his heel and skipped over to the bar, where some Inquisition foot soldiers were getting their fill of cheap ale before retiring for the night. They nearly shit themselves as the Inquisitor draped his arms over their shoulders, their bodies freezing as they didn't know what to do with themselves as the _Inquisitor_ draped himself over them. 

"The armour looks good on you," Gael slurred, his hand stroking the Inquisition under amour with light fingers. Dorian bristled as the soldier blushed, mouth popping open in surprise. 

"Th-Thank you, Inquisitor," the man stammered, his eyes darting around as people began to take note of what was going on. Gael nodded happily, before planting a sloppy kiss on the soldier's cheek. Dorian nearly threw up with the sight, his chest constricting as his heart thundered. _The Inquisitor is a flirt when drunk._ The room was aroused in an incredulous silence as Gael giggled again, prancing over to another table, where a young female cook sat with her friend. Gael clapped his hands together as he pulled up a chair next to the woman, gently stroking her thick, auburn braid in his fingers. 

"You have pretty hair," Gael cooed, bringing the hair to his lips, kissing the bundled tendrils sultrily, his eyes peering up at the woman's, who suddenly fanned herself with shaky palms.

"I-Inquisitor, I have a-" the woman started, her voice hushed as Gael shook his head, pressing a slender finger against her lips. Dorian bolted from his seat as he shook himself out of his shocked stupor, pushing past the crowd that had no doubt gathered to witness the Inquisitor's sudden change in behaviour.

"You have a..." Gael purred, his hand creeping up the young woman's braid as she flushed a shade of crimson deeper than her hair. 

"A lover," she whispered, eyes closing as Gael's face moved closer to hers. "B-But, if you want, I could..." 

"And stop right there," Dorian huffed, wrapping his arms around the Inquisitor's waist and pulling him up from the chair. Gael squirmed and whined as he puckered his lips, making kissing noises from the air. With Dorian holding him, his legs barely scraped the ground, his small boots kicking up dust as they struggled to find solid footing. Dorian's arms tightened around the smaller man's frame, his hands fitting snugly around his sides.

Dorian cleared his throat, plastering a deceptively friendly smile on his face as he faced the young woman, bowing slightly as the Inquisitor began to still in his arms. "Apologies, young lady. It appears that our dear Inquisitor here has inconvenienced you. He had a bit too much to drink, I'm afraid. I do hope you will forget this ever happened?" The young woman just nodded, cheeks still flushed, as Dorian carried the inebriated Inquisitor out of the tavern. 

Gael had quietened down now, and had managed to stabilise himself by wrapping his arms around Dorian's neck, snuggling against his wider frame. Dorian's throat suddenly felt dry as the Inquisitor's nose rubbed against the bare skin of his neck. Gael giggled to himself as Dorian hastily made his way to the Inquisitor's chambers, muttering apologies to those he passed and trying to explain that the Inquisitor had too much drink and that he wasn't trying to kidnap their Herald or do very indecent, ungodly things to him.

After Dorian kicked open the door to the Inquisitor's room, Gael slipped from his arms and landed lightly on the floor, skipping with an unstable gait onto the embellished chaise lounge on the far side of the room. He stretched his lithe body along its length, not quite tall enough for his legs to dangle off the ends. Dorian chuckled at the sight, the small elf almost being swallowed by the plush expanse of the seat. 

"So you become a kissing fiend when drunk," Dorian mused, as Gael rolled around on the seat, snaking his arms around a long pillow that rested upon it. His legs wrapped around it as he snuggled into the fabric, lips resting against the seams. "You only had half a glass too." Dorian slowly approached Gael, who had started to quieten down, his eyelids heavy. Dorian gently settled himself on the empty end of the chaise lounge at the Inquisitor's feet, peering down at the small form in front of him. 

As Gael's breathing began to slow, his chest rising and falling against the pillow he was hugging, Dorian tentatively ran his fingers through the elf's hair, which had grown to fall past his shoulders in silky waves. Dorian caught himself, snatching his outstretched arm away and sprung up from the chair. 

_Get yourself together, Dorian._

Steeling himself, Dorian strode to the bed and pulled away the large blanket, draping it over Gael's tiny frame. Despite himself, Dorian smiled, thinking that the Inquisitor's small stature was somewhat endearing. 

Closing the door to the Inquisitor's room behind him, Dorian walked through the evening chill, his fingers brushing across his lips which barely remembered the touch of the Inquisitor's own. 

"It tastes like tea," Dorian murmured quietly to himself, his chest warming at the thought. 

_It really is the company that makes the drink taste sweet._


	5. Small Enough to Miss

Gael wrapped the linen cloth tightly around his face, the dusty winds coating his throat. Gael was not particularly fond of the arid environment of the Western Approach, missing the soft grass and cool springs of his childhood. Now, in the sandy wasteland, Gael and his companions were lying in wait behind pillars of sandstone for the Abyssal High Dragon to descend. 

Gael's eyes scanned the flat desert before him; Iron Bull squatted impatiently behind a mount of stone, picking between his teeth with the sharpened tip of his greataxe, and Cassandra was carefully perched on top of a pillar to scan the horizons for the dragon. Gael sighed as he spotted Dorian on the opposite side of the clearing, popping dried fruits into his mouth as he leaned on his staff. The man was, somehow, immaculately clad despite the disgustingly dusty environment that smothered them. His silken robes slipped over the rippling muscle that clung to Dorian's bones, his tan flesh barely even scorched as he slowly wiped his syrupy fingers on a cloth, tucking it into a hidden pocket in his robe once he was done. His hair, usually slicked back, wasn't as carefully styled today, Dorian learning his lesson from the day before when his dark locks turned bright yellow as the dust clung to the gelled tresses impudently.

Gael, on the other hand, looked like a tiny grump drowning in linen fabric, only his eyes and a sliver of his high nose bridge visible between the sheets of fabric. Gael's rapidly growing hair spilled out from the gap where his hood met his shoulders, the silken plait swaying against his chest. Gael's skin fair skin had always been sensitive to the sun, his paleness choosing to burn rather than tan when bathed in sunlight. In a bid to prevent himself from becoming a ripe tomato, Gael sacrificed fashion for practicality, though he turned bright red anyway when Dorian made a pointed remark about how his clothes seemed to swallow him whole - not that it was hard to do with his height, apparently. 

Gael's eyes were torn from Dorian's statuesque form when Bull let out a low whistle that was quickly followed by the loud, rhythmic beating of wings in the air. Gael narrowed his eyes as he saw the hulking form of the Abyssal High Dragon descend from the clouds, a spiral of sand and dust wafting around its heavy legs as they embedded themselves into the ground. Its thick tail flapped as it let out a lazy roar, its muscles rippling as it seemed to stretch and bake itself in the sun.

 _"I guess this dragon doesn't burn,"_ Gael thought bitterly to himself, pulling down the fabric in front of his face so his companions could read his chapped lips as he waved his hand discreetly in the air. His companions nodded their heads, each of their faces showing different emotions. Iron Bull's lips were pulled upwards wildly, his eyes glimmering with excitement for the fight that was so close he could taste it on his tongue. Cassandra's face was steely, her brow furrowed as flexed her fingers that wrapped themselves comfortably around the hilt of her sword. Dorian, on the other hand, was staring back at the Inquisitor with a mixture of annoyance at the dragon for interrupting his brief snack break, but also with a hint of concern. 

Gael had noticed Dorian giving him _that_ look whenever they encountered a difficult foe. Gael hadn't taken heed of it at first, not until Varric had pointed it out to him on one of their earlier expeditions. Gael had simply laughed and brushed it off, though Varric's words had affected him more than he cared to admit. He found himself bristling whenever he felt Dorian's heated eyes on him, his dark brow always creased in concern when Gael prepared to throw himself into a fight. 

The looks began recently, likely after Gael came back covered in wounds and blood - most of it not his, of course - after leaving Dorian behind on a particular trip, where he needed more brute strength rather than gracefully placed spells. The adventure hadn't gone quite to plan, Gael's slender body taking a crippling blow from a giant leaving him incapacitated for days as the camp healers frantically tried to pull him back from the brink. It had been when he returned to Skyhold and greeted by a throng of worried Inquisition soldiers, who had been waiting with their hands clasps to their chests and prayers on their lips for their saviour's safe return after hearing of his terrible injuries. One of those faces had been Dorian, and for some reason, his face was the only one he could remember.

It was the same face he was making at him now, in the middle of the Western Approach with a dragon burping up its recently digested lunch at their backs.

Gael's lips quirked up slightly as he caught Dorian's gaze, the man's brow burrowing deeper and deeper into his smooth skin. Gael's grin widened as he raised his hand to his brow, mirroring Dorian's expression as he mouthed a single word.

 _"Wrinkles,"_ Gael teased, Dorian's stiff face softening for a moment as his plush mouth curled upwards, the gentle expression broken by a shrill cry as the dragon slammed its tail to the ground, its nostrils flaring. Sharp eyes whirled around at the pillars around it, the beast inhaling slowly. 

_"It smells us,"_ Gael mouthed, gesturing to his nose as his companions nodded once again. Gael's grin disappeared behind his facial wraps as he pulled the fabric back over his sharp nose, his magic rippling at his finger tips and into the Mindchill staff in his hand. Dorian felt Gael's magic flare before he could see it, a circle of ice spiralling from the ground by the dragon's hind foot. The dragon hissed as ice tore into its scales, its wings rising as it roared. Eyes whirling around, the dragon inhaled as raw power pooled in its throat, Gael feeling the heat before it released. Gael quickly conjured up a wall of ice moments before the dragon released its fiery breath, the flames licking at his skin through the gaps in his jagged wall. 

"Nice one, Boss!" Iron Bull yelled, charging forward with vigour, his battleaxe whirling in an arc. Grunting giddily, Iron Bull grinned as his blade met dragonflesh, the beast's maw opening in pain as Bull tore a clean cut through the same leg Gael had weakened with his Blizzard spell. Interrupted by Bull's attack, the flames in front of Gael ceased, Gael laughing as his ice wall dissipated into a puddle at his feet, darkening his peeling leather boots.

Cassandra huffed as Bull continued to yell maniacally, the Seeker joining him in the fray in a more dignified manner, carefully slashing at the beast's legs. With the two of them occupying the dragon in close quarters, Gael and Dorian lobbed long-range spells at the dragon, who couldn't seem to focus on all four directions at once. Frustrated and in pain, the beast roared, it's wings slamming down as its body rose, a flurry of sand blinding both Cassandra and Bull for a moment. When the dust settled, the Dragon was behind Gael, its teeth bared. 

"Inquisitor!" Dorian yelled, lunging forward with his staff outstretched as his eyes widened. Gael gritted his teeth as he gathered his Mana, willing it to comply. Before the dragon's teeth could clamp around his nimble torso, Gael's Fade Step pulled him to the left, the mage rolling gracefully across the sand, his boots slowing his momentum as he flipped his body around to swing an ice blast towards the dragon. 

"You are very fast, Inquisitor," Cassandra noted as she rushed past Gael to capture the dragon's attentions once again, and Gael laughed at the small smile that peeked out from her stoic face. 

"It's because he's so small," Dorian said after clearing his throat, smoothing over his worried expression with practised ease. "Small enough to miss. If he were any taller, the dragon would have plucked his head off his shoulders already."

"Is this really the time to comment on my height again, Dorian?" Gael grumbled, tempted to redirect his spell towards Dorian instead of the dragon that was hopping around, its legs seriously maimed as the companions focused their attacks on its limbs, hoping to stop it from moving around. 

"Well, until you miraculously grow a few feet, it's _always_ the time," Dorian smirked, Gael rolling his eyes as Cassandra cast Dorian a heated look as she raised her shield, repelling the short burst of flames that erupted from the dragon's jaw.

"If you two are done bickering like children, I suggest we hurry and finish this before we all end up dead," Cassandra said brusquely, side stepping the dragon's taloned swipe, the scar on her cheek moving as she grimaced. 

"Sorry, Cassandra," Gael sighed, turning his attention back onto the dragon, using Blizzard again to shackle its claws in his own icy grip. 

The fight continued on for a while longer in this same sort of dance, Gael and his friends slowly whittling away the dragon's strength, occasionally dodging its blows as it grew infuriated and tried to squash them flat. Every time the dragon got a bit too close to Gael, the Inquisitor found Dorian casting him panicked glances, though the dragon barely even managed to scrape the hem of his robes. Gael let out a sigh of fatigue as the dragon finally crashed to the ground, its legs merely shredded hunks of meat on its bones, its raspy breath blowing up weak gusts of sand in front of its mouth, half buried in the ground. Its eyes watched Gael with hatred and defeat, soon glassing over as Bull's axe embedded itself in its neck, severing its spine. 

His robes soaked in sweat, Gael pulled down his hood and face covering, lying down on the sand, which seemed to still as the dragon did the same. Wincing at the harshness of the sunlight, his hand immediately flying upwards to shield his eyes, Gael blinked as a shadow was suddenly cast over his head. Gael smiled softly as he saw Dorian looming over him, robes a little dishevelled after the fight, though his moustache was still impeccably curled and fixed into place. Opening his mouth, dark eyes swirling with unsaid words, Gael waited expectantly for his close friend to say something mildly heartwarming, his chest flaring.

"My, you look even shorter from this vantage point, my dear Inquisitor," Dorian suddenly said, Gael's heart dropping as his jaw followed suit. 

" _Fenedhis_ , Dorian! I swear to the Creators I'll- " Gael growled, whipping his staff upwards to whack the Tevinter mage's shin, Dorian yelping as he hopped on his other leg, Gael getting up angrily. Slapping the sand off the back of his legs, Gael turned and crossed his arms over his supple chest, glaring at Dorian with a fire far more dangerous than the dragon's. 

Muttering elven curses under his breath, Gael turned away quickly and stormed off, covering his reddening cheeks with his garments.

_He wasn't blushing, he was just sunburnt - or so he told himself._


	6. Greener in the Shadows

Dorian had been worried lately - _desperately_ worried. He had noticed the Inquisitor withdrawing from him for weeks now, and it was getting to the point that other people had noticed. At first, it had just been forced smiles and broken gazes, but now it had come to the point of Gael not visiting Dorian's nook in the library at all, opting to take a route around Skyhold that didn't pass by him - though the path he now took was more efficient than the one he usually took. Varric had noticed first, of course, much to Dorian's chagrin. 

_"Did you do something to upset our precious Inquisitor, Sparkler?" Varric asked, peering up at Dorian curiously, Dorian's step faltering before he collected himself. Rubbing his chin, Dorian shook his head. Varric snorted, his stubby hand tugging on Dorian's elbow, pulling them to a stop._

_"What, Varric?" Dorian sighed, exasperated._

_"You're not the only one the Inquisitor has been avoiding, though he seems to be making an extra effort to stay out of your range in particular," Varric noted, Dorian opening his mouth to reply with a witty quip, but bit his tongue when he saw Varric's worried face._

_"It wasn't anything that I did," Dorian said, catching himself as Varric quirked up a brow. "Not that I've_ done _anything!"_

_"You haven't done enough if you ask me," Varric muttered, Dorian's cheeks flushing. "But that's beside the point - for now. Do you have any idea what's gotten into him? You're the one watching him the most."_

_Dorian didn't even bother trying to retort Varric's astute observation since it was true. If Dorian was the one watching Gael, Varric was the one watching Dorian, waiting in the background ready to capture Dorian's most graceless and embarrassing moments and putting pen to paper for the next instalment of 'Inquisit Me' (a work of pure fiction, Dorian defiantly maintains). Varric knew more about him than his own father did, but at least he had some semblance of trust in the tiny man to not throw him to the wolves._

_"Fine, Sparkler," Varric said, taking in Dorian's lost expression, clapping the Tevinter on the back as he tucked his quill and parchment under his armpit, turning to a door off the main hall of Skyhold. Casting a backwards glance at Dorian, who glanced around the throne room in a bid to catch a look Gael's flittering form which was bleakly absent from the picture, Varric gave the mage a sad look. "If you find out what's been troubling the Inquisitor, please fix it."_

_"Me? What can I do?" Dorian asked, his head tilting to the side. Varric gave Dorian a small smile before disappearing, Dorian sighing as Varric's gruff humming grew softer as his heavy steps echoed away._

It was late now, the sun long since disappearing behind the mountains and the grounds of Skyhold were now thoroughly doused in the night's velvety darkness. Though not void of any people, the late guard watch still alert with the threat of Corypheus still lingering in the air around them, it was much quieter than how it was during the day. Only a few windows flickered with candlelight, one of them being Gael's quarters. Dorian found his feet carrying him towards the warmth there despite himself, his knuckles pressing against the door in three consecutive taps. His knocks were met with a startled noise followed by the sound of something falling to the ground in a clutter. Alarmed, Dorian opened the door without invitation. 

"Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, eyes moving about the room before resting on Gael's hunched for, which kneeled on the ground amidst a pile of dropped papers and books. The elf's slender right hand tightly gripped the edge of his ornate desk, his short nails digging into the wood as his other was pressed to his chest, casting an eery green glow across the walls. 

"Stay back, Dorian," Gael forced out, his voice strained as he bit back a cry. Most of the tormented noise was bolted to his throat, but a slither escaped his parted lips, the broken sound making Dorian quake in his exquisitely tailored boots. Gael's cry tore through him like a blade, and Dorian was soon kneeling by the elf's side, his hand gently shaking the smaller man's shoulders, which trembled. The elf looked so small, smaller than usual, and incredibly fragile. 

"Inquisitor," Dorian whispered, mouth dry as he peered down at Gael's form. A sheen of sweat glistened on Gael's forehead, which dipped and rose in strained bunches between his light eyebrows. The sweat soaked into his hair, which hung limply down his back in a braid that had begun to fall apart, unruly wisps sticking out from their confines. Gael's lips were pale, his _vallaslin_ more vibrant against his pasty complexion. 

"I didn't think I was speaking Elvish, Dorian," Gael grunted, giving Dorian a short look as he shrugged the Tevinter mage's hand off his shoulder, shaking up with wobbly legs. Sucking in a breath, the mark on his hand sparked, Gael snuffing out its burst by clenching his fist tightly. "I told you to stay back."

"You're in pain," Dorian said, ignoring Gael's cold comment, Gael laughing dryly as he shakily poured himself a glass of water, his tremors making the lukewarm water slosh out of the metal goblet and onto his desk. Water dripped off the edge of the table and onto some parchment, the dark ink running. Muttering something under his breath, Gael picked up the goblet and drained its contents, coughing a little.

"I'm fine," Gael replied as he set down the goblet, glancing down at Anchor that defiled the once smooth skin of his hand. Gael felt bile rising in his throat as he looked at the mark that scarred him, the green glow burning. It had become a burn that Gael had become used to, his body growing numb to the constant ache of the Anchor. He _had_ grown used to it, but when it flared, it was almost too much to bare. What was of more concern was the increasing frequency of the sparks, something that Gael was desperate to keep to himself. 

"You are _not_ fine," Dorian said, grabbing Gael's hand in his. Gael pulled his hand away, but Dorian was defiant, gripping it once again. Too tired to fight him, Gael let him pull and tug at his hand, flipping his palm over to trace his thumb along the ragged bumps of the Anchor. Gael swallowed thickly as the hairs on the back of his neck grew erect at the soft brush of Dorian's fingers against his palm, turning his face away from the older man's. "It's the mark, isn't it? It's why you've been avoiding us."

_Avoiding me_ were the unspoken words that seemed to scream louder than the words that actually fell from Dorian's lips.

"I don't want you - _all_ of you - to see me like this," Gael said quietly, finally pulling his hand away from Dorian's to rub it, the aftershocks of the Anchor's outburst still tingling violently. 

"Why?" Dorian asked, Gael giving him a look that made his heart swell. 

"You saw me - all... hunched over, shaking, _crying_. It's not..." Gael started, running his fingers through the stray locks of hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Seeing me like this would hardly inspire hope, and hope is sparse as it is."

_Ah, this is the man that I have falle-_

Dorian shook his silent voice from his mind, stepping in front of Gael as he gently nudged the elf's chin up, Gael's eyes meeting his. 

"You were trying to carry this burden alone?" Dorian asked, voice quiet, Gael nodding against his fingers slightly. The small movement made Dorian gulp, wanting nothing more than to crush the elf into his arms. Swallowing thickly, Dorian let his hands drop, clenching them tightly by his side. Clearing his throat, Dorian gave the Inquisitor a smile, his moustache rising with the motion. "Well, you are not alone now, Inquisitor. I am a generous man, and will take it upon my most exquisite self to carry some of this burden, no matter how cumbersome." Gael looked at Dorian for a moment, his expression so gentle it made Dorian weak, before his face lightened with a smile that put the stars to shame.

"It's incredibly heavy, Dorian. I'm not sure you or your tailored robes could handle it," Gael said, grinning a little as Dorian huffed, flicking the fluttering hem of his robes with his hands with finesse. 

"Don't be daft, these silks are incredibly durable," Dorian said, faking offence. "I'll have you know that I only seek my clothing from the finest tailor in Minrathous, anything else is far too unsightly." His miffed expression cracked when Gael laughed, the sound making Dorian lose all sense. Sobering slightly, Dorian pressed a hand to his chest, his rings shining in the firelight. "Honestly though, Gael - you don't have to do this alone. We're all here for you."

_I'm here for you._

"I know," Gael replied, giving Dorian a small, knowing smile, the gesture answering Dorian's silent voice. "If the Anchor decides to throw a fit again, I'll let you know."

_Only you._


	7. Aim for the Head, Blow to the Chest

Dorian rubbed his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, white splotches clouding his vision, and groaned a little as he sunk deeper into the chair in the library. The book on his lap had long been finished, and he now sat there mindlessly flicking through the thick pages as people flitted past. Some spared him curious glances, others ignored his presence entirely. Dorian had spent most of the morning reading, and now well into the afternoon, the sunlight had disappeared from the library windows, casting the room into shadowed dimness. 

In the distance, Dorian heard the heavy whack of wood against wood, the noises rhythmic and controlled. Occasionally there would be a quiet chorus of claps, followed by more wooden taps. Curious, Dorian raised himself to his knees to peer out the window behind his chair, wincing with the sudden flood of light that met him. Blinking briefly, Dorian's grey orbs looked around the vast grounds of Skyhold until he found the source of the noise. Looking downwards, the Tevinter found the source of the noise in the newly erected training pit.

Gael.

Dorian watched in rapture as the Inquisitor twirled his training stick in the air, the smooth wooden rod gracefully arcing above him before slamming into the shoulder of a dummy, straw flying. Barely a moment after, Gael's own body was flying through the air, a lithe blur of pale hair and vibrant green clothing, the gold flecks that emblazoned the sleeves of his shirt glimmering in the sunlight. Flipping through the air, Gael launched his body backwards, landing deftly on his feet as he whirled, swiping his training staff against the base of a dummy. Wood groaned as chunks splintered off with Gael's force, wood shavings sprinkling into the mud. Though he had seen the Inquisitor's combat prowess from front row seats as they adventured throughout Thedas together, watching him from such a secluded vantage point made Dorian a little giddy.

The mage found himself clapping from his seat in the library, some Inquisition soldiers giving him strange looks as they walked past. Dorian continued to watch as Gael rose from his crouched position, spinning the rod in his hands effortlessly before stabbing it into the ground, leaning on it. Dorian gulped as he took in Gael's form, his muscles peeking from beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt, soaked in sweat. Dorian had to swallow the urge to run his hands down the man's braid, to pull that limber body against his own hard chest, to smell him and touch him and _feel_ him. 

Dorian frowned as he saw Gael walk over to someone standing by the fencing of the sparring pit, the elf giving a shy, awkward smile as an embroidered handkerchief was thrust into his face. The hand that held it was slender, with puffed pink sleeves and pale skin adorned with gold bangles and dawnstone rings. Gael's lips moved incoherently, his tongue darting over the pink buds as he gingerly took the handkerchief and dabbed delicately at his sweat-strewn brow. Dorian felt heat fill his stomach as he leaned closer to the open window, cupping his hands around his eyes to focus on the scene below him. 

Handing the square cloth back to the mystery woman, her fingers brushing against Gael's own, Dorian saw the Inquisitor blush and rub the back of his neck in nervousness. The woman leaned forward, and though her face was obscured, Dorian could see that her perfectly curled hair adorned with gold and pink decorations were that of a noble woman. Gael's eyes momentarily flicked upwards to Dorian's window, though it was unlikely that Gael could see him from his (height-challenged) angle, Dorian ducked. After giving himself a moment to calm his stuttering heart, Dorian peered over the window ledge again, almost choking when he saw the noblewoman leaning over the railing, her bejewelled hand on Gael's solid chest. Dorian scoffed and hastily stepped off his chair, his buckles clinking as he descended the stairs with fervour, barely stopping to apologise to the poor scholar he almost knocked down with his bare shoulder, the man's papers sprawling onto the floor like a tidal wave.

By the time Dorian strode over to the sparring pit, the woman and most of the crowd had already dissipated, Gael leaning against the fence of the pit, furiously scrubbing at a dirt stain in the fabric atop his left pectoral muscle. Sensing Dorian's rapid approach, Gael looked up with a raised brow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Dorian," Gael said simply in greeting, nodding his head slightly as the Tevinter neared. Realising that he didn't truly have a reason to be there, Dorian floundered, his carefully filed nails fiddling with the clasps of his outfit. Gael's amused gaze made him clear his throat, moving his body fluidly to at least feigned nonchalance, his muscular arms resting against the wooden pickets. 

"Inquisitor," Dorian replied casually, his voice steady as Gael continued to look at him, his smile becoming more pronounced as he looked at Dorian. 

"Here to spar?" Gael asked after a moment of (awkward, on Dorian's part) silence, the taller mage nodding. Gesturing to Dorian's empty hands, Gael smirked. "With no weapon?"

"I am quite talented with my hands," Dorian quipped, Gael's eyes widening slightly at his words, which had come out more suggestive than Dorian had expected. Just like Dorian had witnessed moments before, Gael's cheeks became flush with rosy colour, his eyes dropping to the ground beneath his feet as he coughed, his hair falling from its tie to try to cover his flaming cheeks. 

"I'm sure you are," Gael murmured, tentatively peering up at Dorian through his full, dark lashes. It was Dorian's turn to choke, the usually eloquent Tevinter uncharacteristically wordless. In a bid to break the silence that had returned again, Gael leaned his own training staff against the railing, stepping into the centre of the ring. Waving his hand in the air for Dorian to join him, Gael untied his hair quickly, only to retie it tighter, the unruly strands by his face now nestled safely in the leather band. 

Dorian slowly moved to stand in front of the Inquisitor, looking down at him in his superior height. Before he could stop himself, Dorian's mouth opened.

"I'm not sure it would be a fair fight with this height difference, it would be like bullying a child."

Gael's face had not wasted a breath before it twisted into one of annoyance, his hand flying out faster than Dorian could say 'phylactery'. A controlled puff of winter magic burst from Gael's open palm, the icy blast making Dorian yelp as coldness blossomed in a circle over his heart, soaking through his leathers.

"To be fair, I probably deserved that," Dorian said gravely, pulling out a cloth from a hidden pocket in his clothes, wiping some of the dampness from his chest, though the coldness still made him shiver. Gael laughed then, his whole face lighting up as patted Dorian's chest, admiring the mark he left on it. His hand lingered for a moment - maybe a moment too long - before dropping back to his side.

"Oh, you _definitely_ deserved it, Dorian," Gael said, grinning as Dorian sighed, though he returned Gael's smile.

"For the record, I have never seen you as a child. It was a foolish thing to say."

"But you do see me as short," Gael huffed, playfully shoving Dorian, who feigned hurt as he rubbed the skin where Gael had just touched.

"Take heart that I don't see you the way I see Varric... not that I can see him at his stature in the first place." Dorian's smile widened as Gael snorted, smothering his laugh with his hand, though he did not conceal the light in his eyes and the crinkles that framed them.

"Don't let him catch you saying that, he may not let you off as easily as I did," Gael said, stepping back and raising his arms up in a relaxed combat stance. Dorian gulped at the mischievous twinkle in his green eyes, realising that the small elf before him wasn't quite going to let him off so easily.

At least, not today.


	8. Adamantly Alone - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've sort of tweaked the game's timeline a little, since this part in the game is usually after the Inquisitor and Dorian are 'together' - but in Gael and Dorian's tale, this isn't quite the case :)

Dorian was angry - it was obvious. The Tevinter mage wasn't often an open book, but right now his pages were unfurled and spilling from their bindings. The only thing still hidden between the lines was the reason for his anger, which was unnaturally directed towards Gael, much to the elf's displeasure. 

While Gael was the type to ignore someone when they upset him, Dorian was the type to let his mouth run wild, though eloquently so. In Gael's case, Dorian's usually playful quips about his height had only increased, and the once joking words seemed to cut deeper than before. This had been going on for a whole week now, starting from the moment the two mages had returned from Adamant. 

As a mage, Gael's trip into the Fade had not sat well with him, and he could still hear and feel the darkness in there nipping and tugging at his flesh, wanting to eat his mind and soul alive. Gael could only imagine that Dorian was feeling the same thing, and part of him wondered if that was what had him so riled up. Gael had gone up to the mage numerous times over the past week, offering his shoulder if Dorian needed it, only to be pushed away roughly by those same shoulders. Gael could only meekly rub the spots on his body where Dorian's had brushed across callously, the stings prickling.

Dorian's actions hurt far more than anything Gael had felt before - more than the dragon's claws slicing through his shoulder blade, or the demon that had wrapped its oozing talons around his throat in an attempt to crush his trachea. It hurt in a place deep in Gael's body, somewhere no elixir, salve or spell could penetrate. No matter how much he clawed at his chest, the hurt just burrowed further in and out of his reach.

~~~

_"Dorian?" Lavellan murmured, peeking his head around the corner of a bookshelf, relief flooding his face when he saw Dorian reaching up for one of Genitivi's leather-bound volumes. "I finally found you. What are you looking at?"_

_"Nothing that_ you _can reach, Inquisitor," Dorian replied brusquely, his voice flat._

_The Tevinter mage barely spared a glance at him as he quickly tucked the thick book under his arm, stepping around Gael's smaller frame without a word to disappear behind one of the many doors in the chamber. Gael swallowed painfully, his heart hammering as he stared at the door Dorian had walked through just a second ago, the latch clicking shut. Gael felt his cheeks flush as some of the mages that loitered around the library peered at him through gaps in the shelves, their voices hushed._

_Gael kept his head down as he walked out of the library, pulling his hair free from its band to cover his face._

_~~~_

_"Dorian!" Gael called, pushing down his trepidation as he saw Dorian walking along the stone hallway of Skyhold. Gael plastered a warm smile on his face as he skipped over to Dorian, pulling on his freshly tailored cloak to show the Tevinter mage, his fashion prowess leagues above the common rabble at the Inquisition's stronghold. Twirling lightly on his feet, Lavellan tugged at the carefully sewn hem of his embellished sleeves. "What do you think?"_

_Dorian cast an appraising eye over the garment, not meeting Gael's eyes. Silence followed, and Gael bit his lip nervously, wondering if Dorian would just turn around and walk past him again without uttering a single word._

_Hope blossomed in Gael's breast as Dorian's mouth opened, his moustache rippling._

_"You're far too short for that coat. It swallows you whole."_

_With the clipped comment, Dorian whirled on his heel and stalked out of the hall, the clack of his boots against stone matching every throbbing thump of Gael's heart._

_~~~_

_"Hey, Dorian," Gael said softly, his voice barely audible over the raucous laughter of the tavern. Drinks sloshed to Gael's right, the elf carefully sidestepping around the puddle that landed by his feet. A drunken soldier guffawed as he tripped on his own toes, toppling towards Gael. Sighing, Gael ducked, narrowly missing the drunk's arm whizzing past his head, the man collapsing onto the ground, face down in the freshly-formed puddle of ale._

_Distracted by the flying projectiles, Gael almost stumbled himself trying to reach Dorian, who had stood up without finishing his drink, eyes trained on the exit._

_"Dorian! Wait!" Lavellan called, another drunk flying towards him with three tankards looped around his fingers, the golden liquid dribbling down the sides and onto Lavellan's shoulder. Gael grit his teeth as he weaved gracefully through the crowd, his eyes never leaving Dorian's hastily retreating form, the tall man's head bobbing above the throng of people clamouring for drinks._

_Shorter than most of the patrons, Gael's sight of Dorian began to disappear as his eyes couldn't rise above the heads and chests of others, the elf grimacing. By the time Gael managed to push his way through to the back exit, Dorian's form was already on the far side of Skyhold's grounds. Watching on in the cold, his hair unfurled and blowing in the wind, Gael pulled his coat tighter around his body and watched with folorn eyes until Dorian disappeared down a flight of stairs._

_Turning back glumly, Gael walked back into the lively tavern, tapping the bartender on the shoulder with a sad look. The bartender gave Gael an apologetic look, shoving another patron off the bar before carefully placing a steaming mug of tea in front of Gael. Holding the hot cup in his cool hands, Gael stared at the half-empty tankard the Tevinter mage had left, the lip of the cup still smeared with his saliva._

~~~

"Inquisitor?"

Gael blinked, looking up from the large map that was unfurled across the length of the war table, the small marble carvings blurring as his eyes watered. Looking up, Gael met the worried gaze of Cullen, the handsome man awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced to his side to Leliana. The spymaster shook her head and stepped back, gesturing to Josephine, who gave the two desperate looks before finally turning to Gael. 

"It's been... a trying few weeks," Josesphine says, her words slow as she tried to carefully piece her sentences together. 

"It has," Gael said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

"If you still haven't recovered from what happened at Adamant..." Josephine started, glancing at Leliana, who maintained a pokerface as she stared at a very inconspicuous chip on the edge of the war table, while Cullen at least pretended to peruse through documents in his hands. 

"Thank you for your concern, Josie," Gael said, giving the Antivan beauty a grateful look, the woman seeming to relax slightly. "But I'm fine. Just a little tired. If we have exhausted all the topics up for discussion, may I ask to be excused to my chambers?"

"Of course, Inquisitor. Cullen, have we covered everything?" Josephine asked, Cullen's eyes widening as he hurriedly fumbled through the stack of papers he had been focusing - yet not focusing - on for the past five minutes. Pulling out a folded slip of paper, Cullen's sight skimmed the contents, before nodding to Gael. 

"Yes, we have discussed everything. Oh, but just regarding the issue in Emprise du Lion..." Cullen began to say, Leliana stepping on his toe under the table. The Commander of the Inquisition's forces blanched as his mouth pressed into a thin, pained line. "Uh, never mind. Rest well, Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Cullen," Gael said, chuckling despite his fatigue, picking up the figure of a horse that sat on top of the printed 'Emprise' on the map. "And don't worry about Emprise. Prepare for my departure in three days. Cassandra, Varric and Bull shall accompany me."

"As you wish, Inquisitor," Cullen said, nodding his head as he scribbled something down on the paper, somewhat glad to be able to keep his eyes and hands busy. Thanking the circle again, Gael stepped out, the voices of his close friends slipping through the open crack before the door closed fully. 

"No Dorian?" Cullen asked, and Gael heard a heavy smack followed by a masculine grunt. Gael didn't hang around to hear what was said next, mouth turned down in a frown as he walked without stopping to his chambers, slamming the door behind him. Dropping his clothes in a trail on the dark burgundy carpet towards his bed, Gael climbed in to the plush mound of fabric and buried himself under the blankets.

_No Dorian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Part II will be released soon (ish) :)


	9. Adamantly Alone - Part II

Dorian sighed as he saw the light in Gael's chamber snuff out, plunging the small arched window into darkness. Getting up from the bench, strategically placed within view of the Inquisitor's chambers, Dorian brushed the dust off his leathers before trudging back to his own bed, the room cold and dark. Sending a small tendril of flame into the fireplace, the logs quickly catching alight, Dorian began to unstrap his complex chest piece. 

Slinging his clothes across an armchair by the fire, Dorian poured himself a goblet of sweet wine, swirling the contents briefly before giving it a deep sniff. The pungent aroma filled his nostrils, and Dorian found himself momentarily at ease. The effects of the drink did not last long, however, as Dorian found himself sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

Dorian was no fool, but he was a coward. Adamant had made him face things that he hadn't wanted to face, that he wasn't _ready_ to face. When Gael hadn't come out after him, the white-haired elf not emerging from that twisted abyss, Dorian had felt something he had never felt before, the feeling still thundering inside him. Dread, fear, desperation - it was a chorus of screams that Dorian couldn't drown out, no matter how many bottles he drained or how hard he tried to run away from it. Somehow, Gael always managed to catch up to him and remind him of everything that he could lose.

Everything he could not bear to lose.

Dorian felt the wine he had just downed begin to rise up his throat, searing its way up his oesophagus. Behind his tightly shut eyelids, the terrible events at Adamant continued to plague him. The thought of never seeing Gael's tiny, beautiful, miraculous frame again sent Dorian into a downward spiral, and for a moment he had felt like he had already lost everything. It wasn't until Gael's body, beaten and worn, had tumbled out of the rift in a heap of green and red that he realised how much he cradled in his hands, and how much could just as easily slip through his fingers.

Dorian's newly admitted reliance on the elf scared him, and the only thing he could do to alleviate his fears was to push the Inquisitor away, even if it hurt them both in the process. Dorian had long accepted that romantic relationships would never end well, and the trend wouldn't change even if he were to pursue something with the Inquisitor. If it were doomed from the start, then it was better to step away before it could consume him.

Dorian felt his resolve tremble as Gael's hurt face clouded his vision, the mage groaning as he began to pour himself another cup of wine, pausing before taking a swig directly from the large bottle, the goblet forgotten. Nursing the bottle to his chest, Dorian climbed onto his bed, leaning his head against the frame as he willed himself to forget, forget, _forget_.

"Get yourself together, Pavus," Dorian chided himself, the sweet drink suddenly bitter on his tongue as he took another hefty sip, praying that the alcohol will hit him soon.

~~~

Dorian rubbed his chin in contemplation as his eyes raked over the books and tomes in the library, trying to find _something_ that could disclose the true identity of Corypheus, or at least offer a glimmer of hope in the dismal reality they all lived in. Dorian was so engrossed in the poorly organised shelves that he didn't notice Gael's light steps stop behind him, the young man clearing his throat cautiously. Dorian bristled, wanting to turn to the elf and drink in his appearance, but kept his eyes trained on the novels before him, their titles blurring. Swallowing to calm his nerves, Dorian spoke before Gael could, wanting to cut off the elf's dulcet voice before it could wreak havoc in his head.

"You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history," Dorian said, voice dripping with fake calmness, Gael shifting uncomfortably at the impersonal tone. Gael opened his mouth to say something, but Dorian's own moved like wildfire, his eyes never leaving the shelves as his fingers brushed past the spines of dusty books. 

"If I knew what you were looking for, I could help you," Gael offered, giving Dorian a small, pained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Dorian grimaced as he remembered the time they spent scouring every nook and cranny in the library on the search for rare tomes and spell books, and Gael's ecstatic face when he found a long-lost volume on wards was as clear as a freshly painted portrait. Dorian wanted to slap himself as his mouth continued to spit out harsh words, Gael growing paler with every sound he uttered.

"Because you're a mage? Considering education standards in the South, that's hardly a recommendation," Dorian said, his voice biting. He immediately regretted his words when the elf visibly flinched, his face falling as his painted smile turned into a hard set frown, one that he had been wearing a lot lately. Dorian thought that the Inquisitor looked good in a great deal of things, but the one thing he never suited was a frown. Especially not one caused by the Tevinter himself. Sighing, Dorian clenched his fist as he averted his eyes from the Inquisitor once again. 

"I apologise," Dorian choked out, Gael's head snapping towards him, surprised. "That was unworthy."

_I'm unworthy._

Dorian felt a mixture of relief and failure swirl inside of him as he saw the glimmer of hope that blossomed in Gael's eyes, the man standing up a little straighter as he brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. Embarrassed, Dorian rolled his shoulder as he tried to relax his stance, which had become rigid in his discomfort.

"Did I see something by Genetivi here? I could have sworn..." Dorian started, using his words as an excuse to turn away from the elf, who had taken a step towards him, hand outstretched. Dorian let out a held breath as he saw Gael's hand dropping from the corner of his eye, the Inquisitor stopping his advancement. 

"What is this about, Dorian?" Gael asked carefully. Dorian didn't answer, his mouth pressed into a hard line as the hand resting on one of the shelves tightened, his knuckles blanching. The gesture did not go unnoticed to Gael, who stepped forward slowly, looking at Dorian's back to gauge his reaction. When Dorian didn't move, Gael took another step forward, until he could pinch the hem of Dorian's sleeve. The little tug Gael gave made Dorian almost, _almost_ fall to the ground, the little touch unlocking the flood that Dorian had tried to dam inside of him.

"When we fell into the chasm, into the Fade... I thought you were done for," Dorian admitted, his cheeks heating as his voice cracked on the final words, which were far too raw and real for Dorian's palate. Dorian heard Gael's breathing catch as he took in the Tevinter's words, the grip he had on Dorian's sleeve tightening. 

"I don't know if I can forgive you for that moment," Dorian continued, gripping the shelf tighter to stop his shaking. 

" _Forgive me?_ " Gael asked, his voice incredulous, his pitch rising. Dorian bit back a yelp as Gael's strong hand gripped his wrist, pulling him around to face him. Dorian winced as his back hit the bookshelf, the novels rattling with the force of Gael's hand forcing his chest backwards. Dorian looked down at the small mage, whose eyes were alight with the well-formed frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface over the past week. "Forgive me? What do you need to forgive me for, Dorian?! Fenedhis, this is ridiculous. You were right there with me the _entire time_! So enlighten me, Dorian. Tell me what I did that begs for your forgiveness or I swear-"

" _For making me think you were dead!_ " Dorian yelled, his voice echoing throughout the library. Dorian's sudden outburst made Gael blink as some mages in the corner jumped, startled. Dorian took Gael's momentarily shocked stasis to push his hand off his throbbing chest, stepping around him. Sending withering glares to onlookers who tried to be discreet about their snooping, Dorian stepped towards another set of bookshelves, wringing his hands. 

"Dorian, I-"

"You sent me ahead, and then didn't follow," Dorian said, his voice softer and much, much heavier. His usually jovial, mellow voice trembled in a way that Gael had never heard before, and it made him ache. Turning back to Gael, who was still locked into place in shock, Dorian gave him a forlorn look. "For just a moment, I was certain you wouldn't. I thought..." Dorian let out a dry laugh, running his hand through his hair as Gael took a step towards him. "I thought... this is it. This is where I finally lose him forever."

The library was eerily silent as the two men stood there, the only sound being their shaky breaths as Dorian's feelings were laid to bare in the thick between them. As if he was being pulled forwards, Gael took two long strides over to Dorian, taking his hand in his and pressing it against his own chest. Dorian frowned as he tried to loose his hand from Gael's, the elf not giving in one inch despite his smaller hand, forcing Dorian to feel his heart beating beneath his palm. 

"I'm right here, Dorian," Gael spoke, the warmth of his hand bleeding into Dorian's. The steady thump of Gael's heart collided with Dorian's hand, drilling into him the very essence of his existence, one that Dorian had tried to desperately to snuff out. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Everyone says that," Dorian replied bleakly, giving Gael a watery smile as the elf shook his head, light hairs brushing his shoulder as he moved.

"Fortunately, I'm not everyone," Gael said, a tiny smirk gracing his lips as he peered up at Dorian, the Tevinter letting out a laugh despite himself. 

"Well, you're certainly not as tall as everyone, that is for certain," Dorian said, his words regaining their usual lightness, Gael grinning despite the weak jab.

"Now that's the Dorian I know," Gael said, finally letting Dorian's hand drop from his chest. "I won't punish you for that line today, but we'll see how the winds blow tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting for it, Inquisitor," Dorian said, moustache quirking as Gael raised a challenging brow, the spring in his step returning as he walked out of the library.

_I'll be waiting for the day you break my heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this part of the game always made me so weak for Dorian. This, and that little line in Trespasser where he's so sure that the Inquisitor will break his heart always hit my right in the feels and it seriously hurts. My heart genuinely feels like it's being squeezed, I am not joking. He's just so vulnerable and soft and I just want to hug him and make it all better. Even though I can't hug the guy, at least I can get Gael to do it on my behalf. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	10. Battle Between Men

Dorian heard Gael sigh as he bit into the apple in his hand, the sour juices flowing across his tongue. Cassandra sat beside him on the bench, mirroring the Inquisitor's mildly annoyed expression as she watched the men in front of her have a contest to see who is more worthy to accompany the Inquisitor on his expedition to Emprise du Lion. 

When Gael and Dorian had been having a small-scale cold war over the past week, Gael casting out his usually solid spot in his expedition team and replacing it with Iron Bull, Dorian was positively offended, even though he knew it was mainly his fault. Still, the fact that Cassandra, Varric and Bull were accompanying Gael out to such a dangerous part of Thedas made Dorian queasy. 

_As did the idea of the elf sharing a tent with the hulking ox._

"Boss already organised with Cullen and the others for me to accompany him," Bull said, his horns gleaming under sun as he crossed his arms over his burly chest, his hulking form casting a shadow over Dorian's smaller one. The Tevinter mage simply scoffed, brushing off the Qunari's stature with the crinkle of his sculpted nose, pinching the tip of his moustache as he glanced up and down at Bull's form.

"You were simply a placeholder, you ox," Dorian said, digging his heels into the ground as he squared his shoulders. 

"Says the Vint that was discarded for this 'placeholder'," Bull sneered, his deep voice rumbling as he laughed at Dorian's expense. Dorian let out an exasperated groan, turning to Gael and Cassandra, who both suddenly found a deep interest in the sprigs of grass under their feet. While Varric and Cassandra's positions were more or less solidified in the team, it was now Dorian and Iron Bull who were slugging it out in the courtyard.

 _"Cassandra,"_ Gael pleaded, giving the Seeker desperate eyes as Dorian and Bull stormed over to them, their steps synchronised as the two were more alike than they cared to admit. Cassandra let out a disgusted noise, getting up from her chair as she threw her hands up.

"You're on your own on this one, Inquisitor. I'm going to the armoury to check on my weapons for tomorrow," Cassandra said, the lilt in her accent disguising her veiled amusement at Gael's pleading eyes. 

"Cassandra," Gael said again, his voice dripping with that 'Inquisitor tone'. Cassandra let out a short chuckle her close friend, shaking her head as she carefully tiptoed her way out of the situation, leaving Gael to fend for himself.

"Hey, Boss. This Vint can't get it through his head that he's not coming this time," Bull said, jerking a bulky thumb towards Dorian, who scoffed.

"This brute called me a placeholder. A _placeholder_. Have you ever seen a placeholder this delectable? No? That's because _I'm not a placeholder_." Gael could almost see the steam wafting from Dorian's ears, and Gael never knew that Bull's eyes could bulge out that much from his heavy-set skull.

"Can't the two of you sort this out amongst yourselves? I have... many things to attend to. Inquisitor things. Very important business," Gael said, lying through his teeth as he waved his half-eaten apple around in his hands. Bull gave the Inquisitor a knowing look as Dorian rolled his grey eyes. 

"We know Cullen gave you a day to rest before your departure, _Gael_ ," Dorian said, the easy delivery of the Inquisitor's name on his lips catching him by surprise. It seemed to have also caught Gael off guard, since Dorian rarely said his name aloud, usually referring to him as Inquisitor, or the Herald of Andraste when he was being particularly sarcastic. Hearing his name on the Tevinter's lips made Gael lose all sense for a long, long second. 

"Uh..." Gael started, his words failing him. "I... um... well... uh..." Gael glanced around the courtyard desperately, before jumping up to his feet. "You could compete!"

"Compete?" Dorian asked, Bull murmuring the same thing under his breath. "With this neanderthal?"

"I could clobber you any time of the day, Vint," Bull huffed, nostrils flaring as he pushed out his chest. "Just tell me when."

"How about now then?" Dorian said, mana crackling in his palm as storm energy spilled from his pores. Dorian was about to send a carefully controlled shockwave to Bull's ankle, stopped only by Gael's hand tightly gripping his wrist, the elf's own magic clashing with his. Energy seared up Dorian's arm, warming him as Gael's grip tightened around him. 

"You're on, Vint," Bull grinned, pulling a fist backwards, ready to release. 

"You stop right there too, Bull," Gael said, exasperated, his hand flying out to send a burst of ice at Bull's fist, the Qunari's hand freezing moments before he released his punch. Bull and Dorian looked at each other, and then at the small elf that stood between them, easily dissipating both of their 'friendly' attacks with ease. 

No wonder he was the Inquisitor. So much power was packed into such a tiny body. 

"Sure, Boss," Bull said, lowering his arm, which dripped with slowly melting ice. Dorian too pulled back his magic, letting out the breath he had been holding, his chest deflating with relief.

"If you both want to come that badly, maybe talk to Varric about it. He's working on the next chapter of Swords and Shields, and he would probably like to be able to work on it without Cassandra looking over his shoulder every time we set up camp," Gael said, lowering his hands when he was certain that the two hotheads had calmed. 

"Oh, I'm happy not to go, if these two are that keen," a raspy voice chuckled from behind Gael. Bull and Dorian looked at the elf in confusion, since the voice seemed to come from where he was standing, though it was definitely not his velvety timbre that they heard. As if on cue, Varric's head popped out from behind Gael, his short body soon revealing itself. 

"Oh, thank the Creators," Gael let out, stepping behind Varric in gratitude, the dwarf casting him an amused look. "Varric, whatever you want, I'll get it for you. _Ma serannas_ *."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, my dear Inquisitorialness," Varric chortled. "And you don't have to go out of your way to get me something, but if you _really_ want to thank me, do you mind reading over this manuscript? It's still a work in progress, but it could really use your... expertise." 

Dorian felt a chill wash over him as Varric pulled out a thick stack of parchment bound with leather straps from his satchel, handing it to the Inquisitor, who read the neat script on the bound cover. 

"A new book, Varric?" Gael asked, looking at the dwarf, who gave him a mischievous grin in return. " _Inquisit Me?_ I'm not familiar with this series of yours."

" _Vishante kaffas!_ " Dorian spluttered, lunging for the papers in Gael's hand, snatching them from the Inquisitor who just looked at Dorian like he was a mad man. Varric was doubled over in a fit of laughter, Bull just snorting steam from his flared nostrils. Dorian's face turned a shade or two redder, his mouth opening and closing as he reached down to grab Varric by the collar, dragging the cackling dwarf across the courtyard, much to the entertainment of the gardeners. 

"We depart at dawn tomorrow, Dorian!" Gael called after him, Dorian waving a hand in acknowledgement, before turning a corner with Varric in tow. 

 

*Ma serannas - my thanks/thank you


	11. Follow Me in the Fallow Mire

Dorian gagged a little as he sniffed the murky waters running along his legs, the liquid soaking into his woollen socks and making the skin of his feet pucker. Little speckles of mud creeped up his knees just above the line of the water, the hem of his robes swishing in the goo. Dorian had long since given up on remaining dry from all angles, the cold rain pouring down as the dirt ran slick.

"This place is abysmal," Dorian huffed, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Bull just snorted as rain dribbled down his horns and onto his scarred face, his dark tongue flicking out to lick his lips. 

"You volunteered to be here, Dorian. Or did you forget?" Gael reminded him, his voice weary. Dorian had been whining (though he was adamant that he does not 'whine') from the moment they were debriefed by Scout Harding, complaining about how the muck would ruin his new Quillback boots. Bull had not-so-subtly kicked up a mound of dirt straight onto his boots to break them in, Gael having to conjure up a last-minute ward to prevent Dorian's fireball from lighting Bull up like a matchstick. 

"Unfortunately, I didn't forget," Dorian grumbled, picking at the crusted mud on his thighs. "But please tell me that the mad Apostate isn't far from here." Gael rolled his eyes as Dorian cast doe eyes at him, the grey hue gleaming in the eery lighting of the foggy night. Gael's situation was far worse than Dorian's, as his shorter height meant that the water level reached far past his knees and to his mid thigh, the worryingly sticky slush wetting more of his leg than he cared for. 

"Bull, cover," Gael ordered briefly, Bull nodding as he pulled out a large square of tarp from his pack, raising it above Gael's head. The Qunari was a tower compared to Gael, and swamped him in height effortlessly, the tarp overlying him providing him with a high ceiling that he would have to jump up to scrape. Cassandra quietly stepped under the tarp's domain, shaking the water from her shortly cropped hair. Dorian tried not to stare as Gael wrung out his own growing braid, some rainwater dripping down the side of his face to linger on the edge of his rounded lips. Feeling the droplet there, Gael's pink tongue slithered out to lap at it. Dorian gulped and cleared his throat.

"If you were any taller, this column may have to retire from his day-job. It's a good thing you're nug-sized, Inquisitor," Dorian quipped, Bull blinking at his words as Gael gave him an annoyed glance, before opening up his own pack to pull out Harding's map of the area. Looking at it for a moment to orientate himself, Gael flipped the map around and tapped on a small clearing on the crinkled page. 

"We're here," Gael started, flipping his wet braid behind his head as it began to drip onto the ink of the map. "A few paces this way, and we'll get to the location mentioned in the journal."

"Oh, _a few paces_ ," Dorian whined, throwing up his hands in the air as Gael stuffed the map back into his pack, Bull dismantling his role as the makeshift tent's skeleton. "You said a few paces _forty minutes ago!_ "

"If you're tired, you can go back to the camp first," Gael sighed, gesturing to the path they had just trekked across. Their footprints were already disappearing as mud slipped across the ground as the rain picked up its momentum with newfound vigour.

"The camp is a 'few paces' in the other direction, so no, thank you," Dorian said glumly, Gael grinning a little at the other mage's pouty lips, his moustache drooping along with his energy. Stepping in front of the group towards their target location, Dorian crinkled his nose as he began to lead the small group. "Let's just get on with it, then."

Gael laughed as Dorian trudged on ahead of them, the elf skipping lightly on his feet despite the mud trying to suck him down. Dorian's lips twitched as he felt the Dalish elf fall into a steady gait beside him, a flurry of ashy hair bobbing in his periphery. 

"Next time, please adventure somewhere more... hospitable," Dorian then spoke, Gael grinning. 

"Of course. The next time an arch-demon decides to wreak havoc, I'll make sure to direct it towards a resort in the Exalted Plains," Gael joked, Dorian snorting.

"Only resorts rated five out of five nugs can be considered," Dorian said, his white teeth flashing as he smiled, face soft as he watched the Inquisitor giggle, his _vallaslin_ wrinkling with the motion. 

"I'll keep that in mind, Dorian," Gael replied, staring at the Tevinter's face in their rare moment of reprieve in the detestable climate. Suddenly, Dorian shivered, his mana tingling. Gael's step also faltered as the hairs on the back of his neck rose, the air around him dense and suffocating. 

"The Veil's thin here," Dorian said, Gael nodding, raising his arm to signal the group to stop. Taking in Gael and Dorian's tense backs, Cassandra unsheathed her sword as Bull unhooked his large battle axe from his back, cracking his knuckles as he did so. Dorian glanced around at the watery bog around them, the water rippling as the rain slammed against its surface. In the distance, Dorian saw the water move, and it wasn't because of the rain.

"The water," Gael said, mirroring Dorian's thoughts. As he spoke, the rattling bodies of festering corpses rose from the waters, their mouths gaping with rot as their rusted swords blew in the air. 

"This place is horrid," Dorian sighed, "with demons seeping into every corpse and tree they can."

"You're the true corpse whisperer here though, Dorian," Gael smirked, Dorian raising his chin as he pushed for an exaggerated air of pompousness. 

"You flatter me, Inquisitor," Dorian said, bowing slightly as Gael rolled his eyes, though the smile never left his lips. "You take the left, I'll take the right?"

"And us?" Cassandra asked from behind them, already re-sheathing her sword as she looked around at their enemies, bored. 

"I've always liked having an audience," Dorian grinned, casting Walking Bomb with finesse as Gael let out a freeing laugh, arcing his staff in the air before slamming the hilt into the ground. Where his staff hit the mud, icicles burst forth in a straight line, the water crackling as it turned to ice. The skeletons half submerged in the waters clashed their teeth in alarm as their legs were locked in the ice, Gael quickly following up his first attack with rapid bursts of Storm energy. As Gael dispatched the weak corpses on his side, he turned to see Dorian picking at the dirt from under his nails, a corpse approaching him from the water. Without glancing at him, Dorian's lips twitched as his silent countdown reached zero, the corpse shrieking as it exploded. 

"Always so flashy, yet somehow effective," Dorian heard Gael say from beside him, the elf grinning up at him as he patted the mage's uncovered shoulder, his fingers hot against the cool rain. Why Gael decided to touch that slither of exposed skin there, Dorian could only imagine, though he didn't shy away from the contact.

"My mother always said that I knew how to draw attention to myself," Dorian said, trying not to frown as Gael's hand dropped from his arm. "With my wit and charm, how could I not?" Gael just hummed happily in response, Dorian wondering if the light sound was because he agreed with his self-observation, or if he didn't want to disagree. Dorian's ego leaned towards the first reason.

"The Boss's attacks were much better," Bull said, his large hand plopping itself on top of Gael's head, nearly swallowing it up. Dorian frowned as Gael feebly tried to swat Bull's hand off him, though beneath the ox's fingers he could see the elf smiling. 

"I have to agree," Cassandra piped up, her face stoic as she glanced at the freshly re-killed corpses floating face down in the water. "Your spells leave too much room for error."

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but Gael's voice cut in first. 

"I disagree," the elf said, voice strong as he was finally able to duck away from Bull's grip, his hair falling across his face in pale wisps. "I think Dorian's spells are beautiful."

_Beautiful._

Dorian found the words that had been on the tip of his tongue retract, his throat tightening as he floundered. Realising what he had said, Gael's eyes widened, the elf letting out an embarrassed hiccup as he quickly slung his staff to his back and briskly walked away from the group, muttering something about needing to find the wild Apostate with haste.

Dorian felt Bull's single-eyed gaze fall onto him, the Ben Hassrath operative giving him a knowing grin. 

"Don't give me that look, you brutish ox," Dorian said, his voice empty as Bull simply chuckled. 

"Sure, Vint. Whatever you say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	12. Cologne

"The Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, the maid in front of him weary as she hefted the basket of fresh linen against her waist, nodding her head towards the undercroft. Thanking her quickly, Dorian's heels clacked against the stone as he descended the stairs, the air getting noticeably colder as he continued to climb down. Pressing his hands on the heavy doors of the undercroft, Dorian stepped through them, immediately hearing the merry humming of a certain Dalish elf.

Gael's lips were pressed together in a carefree smile as he hummed a Dalish children's song, his hair loose and tucked behind his pointed ears to clearly show the neat row of silver piercings that adorned them. The elf's hands worked quickly in practised motions, the steady grind of the stone mortar grating against the Inquisitor's own melodic voice. 

As the door behind him clicked shut, Gael's eyes twitched as he turned to the source of the noise, his eyes clouding with alertness before relaxing again when he saw that it was just Dorian. Unfortunately, being overly cautious and jumping at every noise in a secluded hallway were a hazard of the elf's job, with moments of true relaxation and safety far and few in between bouts of violence and danger. 

"I didn't disturb you, did I?" Dorian asked, Gael simply laughing in response.

"You did, but you are a welcome disturbance." Dorian felt giddy with his friend's words, not quite able to walk to his side fast enough. When he neared, Dorian raised a curious brow at the mess on Gael's alchemy bench, which was cluttered with glass vials and containers filled with herbs that he had harvested on their expeditions to the greater areas of Thedas. 

"What in the Fade is that pungent smell?" Dorian asked, his face twisting into disgust as Gael's eyes crinkled, picking up the mortar to thrust in front of Dorian's nose. Inhaling, Dorian quickly pushed away the bowl before pinching his assaulted nose bridge. "That's positively horrendous. It smells like Bull's boots three days deep in Fallow Mire muck! How can you stand it?"

"It's only crushed blood lotus, Dorian," Gael said, shoving Dorian's side with his elbow as he picked up another sprig of the herb to throw into the bowl. Grinding, the smell only got stronger as more of it was churned up into an oozing paste. "You should smell crushed deathroot. Apparently its aroma can wake up the dead." Pausing for a moment, Gael's eyes brightened. "That sounds a lot like you!"

"I think not," Dorian gasped in mock offence. "I may practice necromancy, but I definitely do not reek l'eau de corpse!" 

Putting down the pestle, the stone rattling against the bowl, Gael wiped his hands with a cloth and stepped closer towards Dorian. The Tevinter felt his heart beat a fraction faster as the elf leaned forward, the top of his head almost brushing Dorian's chin as his nose bumped the collar of his shirt. Dorian could smell the snowcapped mountains in the crest of Gael's hair, and it was intoxicating. It took Dorian a few shaky breaths to collect his thoughts, finally registering the way Gael was breathing him in deeply. Then, Gael let out a low noise, before pulling back with his nose crinkled.

"That is not the reaction I usually get," Dorian said, giving his arm a sniff on his own in concern. Gael snickered at his action, crossing his arms over his chest.

"New cologne?" Gael asked, Dorian nodding.

"Yes, from Orlais," Dorian said slowly, Gael humming as if it all made sense to him. "Now, now, I know most Orlesian goods are... interesting, to say the least, but I sniffed this myself in the store. It didn't offend my senses then, and frankly neither does it now."

"It smells so..." Gael started, tilting his head to the side as he fished around for the right word. "Artificial."

_Ah._

For someone who enjoyed the natural scents of trees in the spring and water rushing over frosted rocks, Dorian could see how Gael was not a fan of his new fragrance. Dorian immediately made a note to never wear the cologne again, already picturing the spot at the back of his chamber's shelving that would house it, alongside the other small cosmetics or clothing items that Gael had balked at.

Pulling a damp cloth from his workbench, Gael grabbed Dorian's wrists and rubbed away at the spots where he had smothered the scented oil onto earlier that day. After thoroughly removing any trace of the smell from his wrists, Gael moved upwards to Dorian's neck. Cupping one side of his tanned skin as the other was gently rubbed with the cloth, Dorian found himself holding a tensed breath. 

_He's so close. Too close... but not close enough._

"I know it's a little high, but maybe if you stand on your toes you can reach the spot better," Dorian's tongue cast out abruptly, Gael's fingers pinching the skin at his neck sharply. Dorian let out a strangled, unrefined noise as Gael's nails bit into his flesh, the elf shooting him a glare. 

"Really, Dorian?" Gael huffed, eyes afire as he fumed. _"Really?"_ Dorian grew hot with Gael's challenging eyes on him, but straightened his back and forced his muscles to relax as he pulled a sleepy smile onto his face. Seeing Dorian's teasing nonchalance, Gael let out an exasperated sigh, before walking back to his workstation. Pulling out a step ladder that was shoved underneath the bench, Gael nimbly stepped up onto it to pluck a small bottle from the top shelf, his calf muscles tightening as he rose on his toes. The movement made his shirt heft up slightly, revealing the smooth expanse of pale skin just above the waistline of his grey leathers. Dorian couldn't help but stare as he swallowed a bolus of spit, suddenly very parched. The skin soon hid itself beneath cloth again as Gael hopped down from the stool, pressing the bottle into Dorian's open palm.

"What's this?" Dorian asked, curious. Gael told him to open it, and Dorian complied, popping open the cork with his thumb. Giving the clear contents a sniff, Dorian's head snapped towards Gael.

"It smells like you," Dorian said, his voice a little too eager as Gael flushed, coughing nervously. Forests and streams, with a dash of something else that Dorian couldn't place, but something that soothed his soul and warmed his heart even in the thick ice of the Frostbacks.

"It's smelling oil made with herbs that my clan used to grow," Gael said, his eyes glossing as he remembered a far away time, sad longing resting on his features for a brief moment. Shaking his head slightly, as if to physically cast away his heavy thoughts, Gael looked up at Dorian with a gentle smile. "It smells much better than that Orlesian sewer water."

"Thank you... Gael."

Gael's smile widened at Dorian's use of his name, the tips of his ears growing pink. The sight of the smaller elf coyly biting his lower lip made Dorian's heart swell, the foreign mage growing restless as his fingers itched to touch the man in front of him. 

_Fasta vass, the things this elf does to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly grow more in love with these boys every day :') I know I release chapters randomly and that sometimes I can go months without releasing, so those that still read these newer chapters I'm so grateful! You guys are the best!


	13. The Other - Part I

**The Other Shem**

Gael cast upwards glances at the Tevinter mage sitting across the small table from him in the library. A window covered by stained glass hung over their heads, the sunlight casting the secluded table alight with warmth. Gael's lips curled in a small, hidden smile as he saw Dorian's moustache twitch as he found something interesting in the tome he was currently digesting, his chin resting on the palm of his hand as he flicked through the pages carefully. Dorian seemed to move, and Gael immediately dropped his eyes, forcing the smile from his face and pretending to focus on the book in front of his own eyes. 

"Still on page three?" Dorian asked, voice amused as Gael coughed, embarrassed. Gael snapped the book shut, the gust of air that blew from between its folds sending the loose pale wisps of Gael's hair upwards. Gael carefully looked up at Dorian again to find him staring at him with warm, grey eyes. Gael's toes curled.

"It's a, um, complex tome," Gael replied, shrugging his shoulders as Dorian's grin just deepened.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that 'Inferno Magic for the Beginner Mage' was complex," Dorian said, raising a brow and chuckling as Gael's cheeks burned.

"It is when one is more comfortable with the workings of frost than fire," Gael said, huffing a little as he used his hair to cover his red face, though the tips of his pointed ears managed to peek out from amongst the snow-like braids.

"Well, with how red your ears are right now I'm sure you will master fire magic in no time," Dorian said, and Gael choked a little as he inhaled, his face scrunching up as he kicked Dorian under the table. The Tevinter just laughed at the lacklustre blow, closing his own book to lean across the table, his face moving close to the elf's slowly. Gael's body froze as his eyes dropped to Dorian's plump lips, which were still curled upwards. Gael had to force his eyes to move away from Dorian's mouth, only to meet grey eyes that were watching his every move intently.

"Gael..." Dorian started, before footsteps interrupted his words, the two mages startled by the approaching noise. Chair legs scraped against stone as the two scooted back with such vigour that they almost toppled over on the hind legs. Dorian's larger and heavier frame much closer to doing just that than Gael's more lithe build, and the Tevinter had to grip the edge of the table to pull himself back onto the chair's four legs.

Footsteps were finally accompanied by boots and a messenger, who looked both awestruck and curious as he looked between the two mages. The messenger first looked at the immaculately clad Tevinter noble, the buckles of his leather bodice glimmering in the light. The messenger was surprised that the image of the foreign mage was not what others had described; tall and dark-haired, yes, but by no means the sinister, manipulative Tevinter magister the kitchen aids had gossiped about. In fact, he looked positively flustered at the messenger's abrupt arrival, his eyes wide as he shifted nervously in his chair. Moving on from the man's tanned figure, the messenger cast his eyes to the elf on the other side of the table. The Inquisitor, famous by name and feats though still a mysterious enigma to those not in his close circle, was also not as the messenger had thought he would look like. Light hair and green eyes, with that swirling Dalish pattern across his face, was what was expected. He was pretty, but no one had said that he was so...

Short.

"Yes?" the Inquisitor suddenly asked, his voice deeper and richer than his height let on. The messenger, startled, straightened his back and clasped his hands nervously behind his back. His fingers knotted as he spoke, his voice a mouse's squeak compared to the Inquisitor's powerful timbre.

"The Tevin- I mean, Mister Pavus has a guest. From his... homeland. They are waiting in the throne room," the messenger stammered, and Gael blinked as Dorian turned to the man sharply.

"A guest? From Tevinter?" Dorian echoed, and the messenger nodded, sweating a little. "Who in the Fade would visit me here?" Gael could see Dorian's eyes clouding as he sorted through the recesses of his mind for every face and name he could think of. 

"What did he want with Dorian?" Gael asked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. Gael could feel dread seeping into his veins, but buried it as he schooled his face into neutrality. 

"He did not say. He said the matter was sensitive, and that he would rather inform Mister Pavus in person, though he did mention it had something to do with a man named 'Felix', I believe." Gael saw Dorian's face twist with a flicker of sadness, opening his mouth before Dorian could even turn to him. Gael gave his fellow mage a gentle smile, allowing himself to softly touch the top of Dorian's knuckles as he tilted his head towards the messenger.

"Go, Dorian," Gael said quietly, Dorian frowning a little. Gael could only continue to force the smile to hold as he drew his hand back from Dorian's, the sense of dread beginning to thicken into a syrup that coated his lungs and pulled up his throat. It felt like he was trying to speak in a sea of oil, but he managed to make his mouth move and his throat contract to push the words out. "Dorian, go. It sounds important."

"Yes, thank you, Inquisitor," Dorian said, getting up smoothly from the chair, soon disappearing from sight. Gael sighed as his friend left, waving away the messenger politely before biting his bottom lip. The elf stared at the empty seat across from him, before letting out a resigned sigh and hopping up from his own chair. Pulling the fur-collared coat that was slung across the backrest of his chair, Gael's feet soon took him up and out of the library and onto the newly constructed balcony level of the throne room. Gael pressed a finger to his lips as some maids opened their mouths to greet him, shaking his head as they immediately clamped down on their words and nodded, scuttling away. Gael stayed close to the stone walls as he moved slowly and deliberately, trying to keep out of sight and sound of those downstairs.

The throne room was mostly empty at this time of the day, since Gael rarely gave audiences so late into the afternoon. There were only a few servants moving in and out of the numerous doors, none of them lingering for long as they had work to do. It was not hard to spot Dorian and his mystery visitor from his vantage point on the balcony, though from this angle Gael could hardly see what the northern guest looked like. All Gael could see was that the man was tall, only one or two centimetres shorter than Dorian, which would make him a head or two taller than Gael. The Inquisitor swallowed thickly as Dorian's arms rose, embracing the man tightly. Gael felt his chest ache as the man rested his chin on Dorian's shoulder, his face now within sight.

Dark brown hair in tamed, styled curls fell to his chin. Dark blue eyes set into a handsome face with a strong jaw, darkened by a little layer of stubble that did not look unkept, but instead added to the ruggedly chiseled appearance that the man possessed. Yes, he was handsome, and tall, and when he stood beside Dorian...

_They look good together._

The four words echoed in Gael's mind as the two fellow countrymen stood side by side, both so dashing and refined (though one definitely more so) that it made Gael step back heavily. His boots clacked and in the high ceiling of the empty hall, the sound was amplified. Dorian's head arced upwards towards the sound of the noise, and his face showed his surprise when he saw Gael standing there. 

"Inquisitor!" Dorian called, waving a little as his companion raised a brow, following the mage's eyes upwards until they fell on Gael. The elf could feel his skin prickle as Dorian waved for him to come down, a smile on his face. Gael managed to get out a tensed 'just a moment' before painfully and reluctantly walking down the stairs. The Inquisitor sucked in a tight breath and tugged on his cheeks with his fingers, moulding his muscles into a smile as if they were clay.

Pushing the door open, Gael's hands were fists behind his back as he walked closer to the pair. From afar the mystery man was obviously handsome, but up close that fact was only amplified. His blue eyes were bluer and his hair was shinier, and now Gael could make out the picket-straight alignment of his bright white teeth as he flashed the elf a smile.

"So this is the famous Inquisitor? A pleasure to meet you," the guest said, his words having the slight lilt of an accent. Gael could feel his stomach twisting as the man's voice was smooth and velvety. 

"Alaric, this is Gael Lavellan, the Inquisitor," Dorian said, hands moving to point to Gael, before moving to gesture at the other man beside him. "And Inquisitor, this is Alaric Titus. He's an old... friend." Gael's smile almost dropped at the almost inconceivable pause in Dorian's words. The little pause told Gael all he needed - but did not _want_ \- to know. 

_Friend._

Gael was no fool. Inexperienced in love and romance, yes, but definitely no fool. He knew that Dorian had many 'friends' in the past, which was as unsurprising as it was bruising, since Gael was one of the people that knew best just how attractive Dorian was. He saw it every day with his eyes, and every night in his mind. Gael had known that Dorian had partners in the past, but had not thought much of it until one of them landed on his doorstep, and was everything that Gael knew that he was not.

"The pleasure is mine," Gael managed to grit out, thrusting out his hand to grip Alaric's tightly. The man's grip was strong and firm, and Alaric's smile widened to show more of those perfect, straight teeth.

"I have heard many stories about you, Inquisitor," Alaric said, eyes raking up and down Gael's body. Something about the way he looked at Gael made the elf tense, shrinking a little. "I must say... I did not expect you to look quite like this." The words, as light as they were cutting, made Gael pale a little, though he laughed forcefully. Swallowing his feelings, Gael gave a thin-lipped smile.

"I have heard that before," Gael said, keeping his voice light and even, though he saw Dorian give him a glance from the corner from his eye. "Though everyone knows that I am Dalish, they are always shocked when they confirm it with their own eyes. And with you coming from Tevinter, I am sure that it must be all the more jarring." Gael's words were clipped, but he still kept the smile on his face. 

"Oh, no, that was not what I was referring to," Alaric laughed, waving his hands as if he were trying to push away a bad odour. "I am aware that my - our - country has its problems, and I disapprove greatly." Alaric continued, and Gael felt sick when Alaric gave Dorian an intimate look at the mention of their shared birthplace. "I was talking more about your..."

"Height?" Dorian offered, giving Gael his usual warm, playful grin that usually garnered a poor attempt at hiding a smile from the elf, but was instead met with eyes that flashed with pain. "Yes, our Inquisitor here is on the shorter side, but you should see him on the battlefield. It is _marvellous._ Even giants stand no chance." Dorian was unsure why he suddenly felt the need to add this to his playful jab, and was unsettled when his praise did not lighten Gael's expression. 

It was not that his words didn't appease Gael's mood, but that Gael did not hear what Dorian had said. All the Dalish elf could focus on was the height difference between him and Alaric. Gael's neck ached as he realised that he had to angle his head upwards to see the other man's face, only emphasising the vast difference in their stature. 

_They look good together._

The sound of Alaric and Dorian laughing snapped Gael out of his muddied thoughts, and he croaked out a laugh in response. 

"I apologise, but I have many things to attend to, as you can imagine," Gael said, giving a small bow, eyes cast to the ground. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Dorian, if you wish to converse with your _friend_ in more private chambers, Josephine can arrange something for you." Gael ignored the quizzical frown Dorian gave him, hastily carrying himself away from the throne room and away from the sight of Dorian and the man that looked so natural beside him.

A man that was not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... I didn't mean for this chapter to be so angsty... Guess I was in that kind of mood ahaha This little arc will be three chapters long (at least at this stage), so Part II will be out soon! Part of it is already written up and it's still kind of angsty... my apologies. Anywho, thanks for reading! :)


	14. The Other - Part II

**The Other Dalish**

Dorian knocked on the door of Gael's chambers, but was met with silence. Dorian frowned, and knocked again. Silence. Not wishing to barge into the Inquisitor's chambers, though he very much wanted to, Dorian loitered around the door and paced. Hand rubbing his chin, Dorian waited and waited, occasionally knocking just for the sake of it, each bump on the door making him less sure that he would get a response. It wasn't until a servant girl, who had been watching the Tevinter with thinly veiled amusement, finally walked up to him with a laundry basket tethered to her hip that he finally stopped his pacing.

"The Inquisitor is waiting at the gates, Mister Pavus," the girl said, curtseying. "He has been there since dawn."

"The gates? Whatever for?" Dorian asked, and the maid shrugged, shaking her head. 

"I do not know such things, but I have heard that some of his clan may be visiting."

Everything clicked into place, and Dorian's cheeks heated as he grew embarrassed at how he must have looked, pacing around empty room like a damned Soporati fool. After uncovering the corruption within Wycome and the plot to purge the area of elves, including Lavellan's own clan, Gael had not been settled until the matter had been dealt with. Dorian could remember the view of Gael's back, shoulders trembling and hand over his mouth to stifle his sobs in the night, and the memory alone made him wince. He had spent many nights with Gael, lending him a shoulder and an ear, and it was not until just a week past that the whole matter had been resolved and Clan Lavellan's safety secured. Gael was lighter than he had ever been before, and Dorian's heart was too.

Turning to the maid, Dorian bowed and thanked her, before walking towards the gate. It was just shy of an hour since dawn broke, and Dorian wondered if Gael was still waiting there for his Clan's arrival. Knowing his perseverance, it was likely that he was still standing there, not even allowing himself to sit. Dorian smiled a little at the image of the small elf standing on the edge of the towering gates, an excited grin on his face and his body swamped in a thick coat to block out the harsh, icy winds. 

The mental image soon became real as Dorian grew closer to the gate, Gael standing there waiting. Dorian's breath was knocked out of his lungs as he looked on at Gael, and though he saw the man every day it was as if he were seeing him for the first time. Gael's long hair was untied, something that was quite rare these days since the Inquisitor was almost always dressed ready for combat, even in the confines of Skyhold. Wavy and thick, Gael's hair swung just over his shoulder blades, and glistened with little specks of silver snowflakes, their fractals radiating through his locks. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the biting cold, his fair skin pulled tight over sharp bones as his lips curved in a closed, waiting smile. Green eyes were alight as they watched through the rectangular gaps of the gate, his body bobbing up and down as he rose up and down on his toes with unbridled excitement and a touch of impatience.

Dorian was about to call out to the elf when Gael's face suddenly morphed into something he had never seen before, the elf hastily asking the soldiers perched on the lookout to open the gate. Metal groaned and chains clanged as the gate drew up towards the sky, Gael ducking under it to rush out before it was fully opened. 

"Eilhana! Lethallan!" Gael cried out, Dorian looking on. _Eilhana_. The name rang a bell, Dorian trying to recall the stories Gael had told him about his Clan over tea and ale. Dorian cursed his love of the drink, some of the details about this particular elf hazy in his mind. Unable to shake off the hold the ale had on his memories, Dorian continued to watch Gael and the elf named Eilhana. The Inquisitor was a flurry of laughter as his coat engulfed another smaller elf, Gael's laughs punctuated with a higher, more feminine tone. Dorian's brow furrowed at the mingling noises, narrowing his eyes as he stepped forward to get a better look as the two bodies that whirled around, Gael hoisting the other figure up in his arms.

"Gael, I have missed you," the female voice said, shaking a little as Gael nodded, dropping Eilhana from his hands though they never left her body, her feet lightly landing on the ground. The elf was still obscured from Dorian's sight, the Tevinter mage cursing the overabundance of furs around Gael's body which shielded his visitor from sight.

"And I you. I feared for you, and the Clan, every day," Gael said, voice soft as he pulled the girl into a tight hug, tucking her head under his chin. The girl's hands wrapped themselves around Gael's waist, slender wrists peeking out from the sleeve of her warm orange dress. Pulling back, his hands moving from her back to cup her cheeks, Gael searched her eyes. "Is everyone alright? I only know what I have heard from letters from our Keeper. It would calm me greatly to hear it from you directly."

"We are alright," Eilhana said, laughing softly. "All of us are alright, thanks to you."

"I am glad," Gael breathed out, and Dorian let out a breath as the elf finally moved away from the girl, revealing her to Dorian's faraway eyes. Blonde hair, tinged with the warmth of orange, was tied in an intricate braid down her back, small white flowers intertwined with the dips and ridges of the braids. The elf had large, brown eyes framed with dark lashes, and her lips were plump and pink and shone with moisture. Her cheeks, like Gael's, were red due to the cold, though the rosiness only added to her innocent beauty. 

She was shorter than Gael - a feat Dorian thought impossible - and her figure was mostly hidden under her loose dress, though Dorian could still make out the ample curve of her bosom which was pressed flush against Gael's chest as they stood close together. Dorian felt his throat constrict as he watched the two of them, their bodies impossibly close and fitting together like a puzzle. With their heights, Eilhana only had to step up onto her toes to reach Gael's lips with her own, Dorian frowning at the invasive thought.

_They look good together._

Dorian knew that Lavellan was not experienced in relationships of an intimate nature, something that made him giddy whenever he thought about it. But that did not mean he was without attention from women. Noble ladies swooned at the sight of the pretty elf with the shiny title, and his world-saving feats made women trip over themselves to see him. Dorian had grown used to such women, and at first they had irked him, but that feeling dissipated into nothing once he realised that Gael had no eyes for them at all.

But now, with his eyes warm and so, so gentle, and his hands holding this girl like that, all of Dorian's fears came rushing back in a flood. Dorian would never see a woman the way he saw Gael, but watching the Inquisitor now made him realise that the elf may not be the same. Standing next to Eilhana, Dorian could picture the nightmare in his mind; Gael's hands touching her, his lips on hers, his fingers unlacing the back of her dress. He could see her, hovering over him, holding him, being with him. What made Dorian feel sick was not the image of Gael holding a woman; it was how _right_ the image was. Gael holding a girl was natural. Gael wanting a girl was natural. Gael and Eilhana were natural.

_Dorian was not._

Unable to watch on any longer, Dorian turned on his heel and walked straight to his quarters, shutting the world out and his heart inside.

~~~

Varric sat at his table and tapped his quill on the edge of the inkwell as the words on the parchment in front of him dried. Shiny black lines turned matte and crisp, and Varric smiled. Reading over his words, Varric nodded, his gravelly voice humming as he put pen to paper again. 

_Inquisit Me - Chapter Seventeen - Each Other's Others_

After a few moments of writing, Varric's quill stopped moving as his mind grew blank. Starved of ideas, Varric crunched a few toasted nuts in his mouth, spitting out the husks onto the ground.

"Hopefully these two can give me some better material to work with," Varric sighed, peering out the window as he again waited for the ink to dry down. In the distance, he could see Dorian walking back into Skyhold's stone buildings, a frown beneath his moustache and his eyes cloudy. Tracing the mage's steps backwards, Varric's eyes trailed towards the gate to the Inquisitor, who was staring after Dorian with a sad, lost look.

"Misunderstandings and confusing feelings," Varric said, grinning as his pen found some new inspiration.

"This will be my most heart-wrenching chapter yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I thought it would be a little fun to add a tiny bit of Varric in there at the end. To be honest, our favourite dwarf is just a hardcore Pavellan fanboy like the rest of us. Sometimes the guy just wants to slap the two of them haha I'm working on Part III of this little segment, and it's turning out to be a long(er than usual) one, so stay tuned!
> 
> Oh, and I hope you all had a Happy New Year - I hope 2019 will grant you all your wishes <3


	15. The Other - Part III

**Another**

Gael waited outside the glistening white walls of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, green eyes squinting under the harsh glare of the sun blinking off the stone. Hood pulled over his delicate features and pointed ears, Gael blended into the crowd of Andraste's devout, kicking a stone up and down with the toe of his boot like a hacky sack. As waited for Cassandra to finish offering her prayers to the Maker, Gael kept sighing and glancing at the doors, no sign of the Seeker's shortly cropped hair appearing from behind them.

Gael was not Andrastian, though he did not denounce those of the faith, despite there being those that did that very thing to him. Cassandra had clasped him on the shoulder gratefully when he mentioned that they should stop by Val Royeaux on their way back from an expedition, saying that it had been a while since Cassandra had been back there. In times so wrought with peril, Gael did not discriminate with faith and hope, for there was a drought in both. From faith came hope, and from hope came strength. Against a force such as Corypheus, strength was the beating heart that held them together. Even Dorian, who was never overly religious, had wanted to take a tour of the Cathedral in all its grandeur, though its size was, in Dorian's words, 'about the size of my great grand-aunt's lavatory.' Cassandra had kicked the soft back of his knees, sending him kneeling in a prayer position on the ground.

But now, standing in the blistering sun for almost an hour straight, Gael was beginning to regret his selflessness. He had already walked a round of the city's main courtyard, popping in and out of the colourful shops that lined its borders to pass the time. Varric, who had accompanied them, had no interest in praying in the Cathedral and instead wandered around the shops, his interest finally piqued in a parchment and quill shop. Gael had left him there and continued to wander the shops alone, buying a few tonic recipes from an alchemist and some rare herbs. After getting pounded by eager shopkeepers and even more eager conmen, Gael had sighed in defeat and bought an overpriced sweet drink from a vendor and tiredly sipped it as he waited. 

When Gael had watched Dorian step through the Cathedral doors, cutting the image of a regal statue that was carved to be admired from afar, Gael's heart only dropped and shattered at his feet. Gael found himself staring at Dorian's back often, drilling into the slops of his back muscles and the fine lining of dark hair at his neck. He found that the man was always walking away from him, and in his mind he would chant at him to turn around. To notice him. No hold him.

But Gael knew that he was not the person at the end of Dorian's gaze. No, not someone like him, but someone like Alaric.

Drink now thoroughly depleted and its sticky residue making his lips tacky and smelling of rich berries, Gael decided to wander around for a while longer. As he made his way towards the main market, he was stopped by a large, warm hand tugging on his shoulder. The familiar smell of mountains and streams wafted into his nose, and Gael immediately turned his head, a tight smile on his lips.

"Finished talking to your Maker, Dorian?" Gael asked, his voice steady with forced calm. 

"Oh, yes, quite done," Dorian said, grinning with a flash of his white teeth, though the motion did not reach his eyes. "Conversation was, as aways, quite tedious, since He doesn't talk a lot himself. Oh, saw some lovely portraits of past False Divines. So much grey, so many wrinkles." Dorian scrunched up his nose, and Gael couldn't help but snort at his comments. 

"Don't let Cassandra catch you saying that," Gael warned, nudging Dorian's side with his elbow.

"You won't tell her, will you? It is our little secret?" Dorian said, voice light and airy, with a little edge. Gael's heart fluttered, his head cocking to the side.

"Mm. Our secret." With Gael's reply, Dorian's stiff smile softened, and he clapped Gael's back solidly. Gael gulped when Dorian's fingers brushed the small of his back, his taps a little lower than normal. However, his hands were soon gone, and Gael was left wondering if he was a little too wary of Dorian's touch. It was simply the touch of a friend, at least, on Dorian's side. The two had been locked in some sort of strange stalemate in recent days; they talked and bantered, and read tomes together and shared meals, but the air between them was so stiff and dense someone could cut it with a blade.

"So, where are we heading off to? Liquor store? Orlesian Bakery? I saw some peculiar pastries in the shop window. Looked like despair, so fascinating."

"Oh, I've tried those," Gael said, face immediately paling. Dorian raised a brow, urging him for his review. "Not only did they look like despair, they tasted like it too." Gael noticeably shivered at the memory, his saliva immediately ceasing to flow as his body lost its appetite.

"No Orlesian Bakery then. Duly noted," Dorian said, shivering at the thought of the pastry that would make the mighty Inquisitor tremble at the very mention of its name. Forget Corypheus and demons, Orlesian biscuits were the true Blight in this world.

"I've visited every store in the marketplace, and the crowds are overwhelming. I'd like to take a walk down some of the side streets. Josie has told me that there are some hidden shops there that are worthy of taking a look at." Gael paused, looking up tentatively at Dorian through his hood. "If you don't mind, of course."

Dorian just shook his head, nodding. "Lead the way, Inquisitor." The formal address felt sour on Dorian's tongue, though Gael did not react to it abnormally. The term implied a distance between them, and pulled Gael to a place that Dorian felt he could not reach. A place the he could not even touch.

When they reached the side streets, with so few people around Gael let his hood fall from his head, letting out a relieved sigh as he felt the breeze run through his hair and caress his cheek. Dorian trailed behind him, standing close and yet far at the same time; just a hand's width away, but unable to stand beside him. Gael, his hair only half tied up and his shirt sleeves rolled and collar open, looked a picture of temptation. The shadows in the alleyway did not hide his features, but instead brought them to the surface. The darkness was in contrast to the snowy white of his skin, and highlighted the sharpness of his delicate features that were turned away from the Tevinter mage. He was everything Dorian wanted wrapped up in a beautiful, little package, and yet the gift was not for him to unwrap. The bow around him did not brandish his name, but Eilhana's.

By the time the pair had reached a shop to walk into, they had frowns on their faces, though neither knew the reason for the other's. The polite, restrained talking continued when they walked through the store door, a little bell at its head chiming in a high pitch as they passed. The middle-aged shopkeeper with warm, richly pigmented skin did not acknowledge their presence, merely pushing his round-framed glasses up his high nose bridge as he flipped through a book. In front and to the sides of the man were numerous glass cases which housed glimmering jewellery and accessories, as well as a few gaudy weapons that were likely more for ceremonial purposes than actual battle.

"Hm, for such an obscure shop, there are some nice pieces in here," Dorian mused, hand on his chin as he surveyed the store's contents briefly through sharp eyes. "Some things are, well, quite obviously _Orlesian_ , but there are some classy things here." Dorian immediately walked over to the salesman, pointing to an extremely glitzy belt. The shopkeeper just sighed, as if getting out the belt was the biggest inconvenience of his life. Gael just watched Dorian, half in amusement at the way his eyes lit up at the sight of so many shiny things, but also with a hint of sadness. The Tevinter mage was used to these glamorous, classy things, but he himself had no knowledge of that world. He was rock and dirt and streams; Dorian was marble, silk and fine wine.

Tearing his eyes away from Dorian, Gael walked over to a cabinet on the far side and looked in at an array of necklaces on display. Some were far too elaborate for someone like him, who preferred the beauty of simplicity, but one item immediately captured his attention. Its chain was crafted of sleek, radiant silver and looked light as it coiled around on a display bust, its curves weighted by the radiant pendant at its centre. The raw stone, shiny but uncut and in its natural perfection was an odd silvery-grey that glimmered under the sunlight filtering through the window. Though the colour was cool, the image of the stone filled Gael with warmth, because the first thing he thought of when he laid eyes on them was that they were like the shade of Dorian's eyes. 

Gently reaching into the case, Gael raised the surprisingly weighty pendant in his fingers, the rock swinging like a pendulum. 

The thought made Gael let out a quiet, bitter snort, his hands lowering the pendant back down. His motion stopped, however, when Dorian sauntered up to him, peering over his shoulder.

"Found something you like, Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, curious as to what has caught Gael's interest, for he usually did not care for gaudy items like jewellery and the like. Dorian's mouth pulled down in a frown under his moustache when he saw Gael softly holding a pretty pendant, something that he was clearly not looking at to purchase for himself, but for another.

Eilhana.

Dorian felt something vile churn in his gut, but he swallowed it down as it threatened to spill from his mouth, and instead tugged at his lips to smile.

"It is pretty. Eilhana would like it," Dorian said, voice a little icy. Gael immediately blinked, before turning to him in confusion.

"Eilhana?" Gael asked, brow creasing, looking at Dorian was such blatant incomprehension. Dorian's frown deepened, and his fists clenched at his sides, the vile feeling bubbling at the surface. Unable to swallow the bitterness down, Dorian spat out his words.

"Yes, Eilhana. What, did you not hear me from down there? Stop giving me that dull look, it's a gift for her, correct? For your woman."

Several emotions flickered in Gael's forest eyes; confusion, anger, and shock. Gael ignored Dorian's quip about his height, only his final words echoing in his head.

 _"My woman?"_ Gael thought, mind whirling. _"Eilhana?! When did Eilhana become my woman?! She's like a-"_

"Sister!" Gael blurted out, but mind and mouth out of sync in his mad confusion. "Eilhana is like a sister to me! Where did you get such incredulous ideas?!"

"Incredulous?" Dorian said, voice low and seething, his grey eyes hard. "I saw the two of you at Skyhold, hugging and touching, always hand-in-hand. She also stayed in your chambers, and your bed. What is incredulous about it? A man and a woman in such a position, there is nothing incredulous about it!"

"Wha-" Gael spluttered, cheeks flaming from both embarrassment and anger, the mere ideas Dorian was suggesting making him feel sick. "She is a sister to me, Dorian! Just the thought of... the things you are implying are sickening! Take it back!"

"Hmph, no need to be so defensive about it, Inquisitor," Dorian said, knuckles white and nails digging into his palm. "Even if you engage in such activities, your reputation has not been tarnished."

"S-such activities?!" Gael stammered, heat flooding him. "I-If you're talking about s-such activities, talk about yourself and Alaric! Josephine arranged chambers for him, and yet I heard he only emerged from your own room in the late hours of the morning!"

This time, it was Dorian's turn to be flabbergasted. 

_"Alaric?"_ Dorian's inner voice was confused, and the anger on his face immediately dissipated as he looked at Gael, mouth open in silence. The only time Dorian remembered Alaric even being in his chambers was when Alaric had too much to drink at the tavern, and Dorian, in his higher level of sobriety, had dragged him back there since it was closer than the guest quarters. Alaric had all but passed out by the time they reached his room, and he had left the man to sleep on the rug with a towel as a blanket! Alaric had, in his drunken state, blabbed to Dorian about how such an elf was very much his type; a little forest minx that he wanted to sink his teeth into, and Dorian had vented his anger by letting Alaric use the cold stone floors as a mattress. 

"There is nothing between me and Alaric, that is absurd," Dorian said flatly, momentarily repulsed by the idea. Gael, however, just let out a dry laugh, his white hair shaking. 

"Do not take me as a fool, Dorian. It is as obvious as the day that you have a relationship with that man. Do not worry, he is quite the looker, and obviously well-off. A good catch."

Dorian flinched at Gael's unyielding stare, the burning in them making his throat go dry. Dorian opened his mouth, the choking sensation in his throat making him feel the need to cough out some sort of explanation. 

"Alaric and I did have... something, before, but that's just it. We had something. Past tense. It was just one time, we were both drunk after a ball, and it just happened. We both knew there was nothing else there, and we have simply remained good friends afterwards. And he's not even the one I l-" The air in Dorian's lungs left him as his eyes widened, the dangerous word on the tip of his tongue shocking him into silence. Gael just looked at him, the fiery anger in his eyes morphing into a heartbreaking, resigned sadness. The elf's voice was soft as he spoke, his body turning away from Dorian as he gently placed the necklace that had long been forgotten in his hands back to the case. The shopkeeper had been watching the two with steady eyes, though when Gael closed the glass case he dropped his eyes and grew, once again, disinterested in the two customers.

"Dorian," Gael said, the distance in his voice chilling Dorian to the bone. Gael's eyes which had held his suddenly dropped to the floor, the elf biting his bottom lip, which quivered slightly. After a moment's pause, Gael loosed a shaky breath and continued, his hair falling over his hung face.

"Dorian..." Gael started again, words carefully plucked from his heart. "This... thing between us. The flirting, I guess some would say. Were you serious?"

Dorian was silent as Gael's words rammed into him, plainly stripping away the layers of ignorance the two had cloaked their relationship in for months with his few words. Dorian thought about Gael's question for a long, long moment, but the elf did not make a move to hurry him. 

At first, Dorian had not been serious; it had all been a bit of fun to tease the Herald, whose pointed ears could never hide a blush. Whether it was flirting, or making a half-hearted, joking comment about his height, Dorian had only done it to elicit a response from the elf, a response that made the Dorian giddy and undeniably intrigued. When that fun turned into something serious, Dorian did not know. Maybe it was sometime on their many expeditions together, when they shared their cramped tent with their bodies crammed in side by side. Maybe it was after Adamant, when Dorian realised that living in a world without the elf would not really be living. But maybe it has always been there, that feeling of wanting to be in his gaze, to be in his thoughts, and to be in his every living breath. For the first time in his life, Dorian had been serious. In every joking quip, every sideways glance, every hidden smile, Dorian's heart had been oozing out, until there was nothing left for Gael to take.

With that, Dorian could only answer with one word.

"Yes."

Gael's head rose then, his face still neutral but with eyes shining like glass. Dorian gulped when Gael's mouth remained closed, not saying anything as he just looked at Dorian with strange eyes. Gael's silence made Dorian's heart thunder with anxiety, and he had to break the silence, and confirm something that had been unsettling him for nights on end.

"And you, _Gael_. Were you serious?" Dorian asked, his voice a little too raw, and a little too honest.

Gael did not say anything, but a crystal tear slipped from the side of his eye as he sprung forward, leaping up to entwine his slender arms around Dorian's neck. It only took one second for Gael's soft, sugar-tasting lips to press to Dorian's, the movement clunky and inexperienced but nonetheless breath-stealing.

Frozen in spot, Gael hung from Dorian's neck, until the Tevinter mage finally grew a mind and wrapped his arms around the elf's taut waist, pulling him closer. With his head dipped, Dorian kissed Gael back wholeheartedly, his body weightless and his spirit aflame.

In all the haze and passion, Dorian could not help but notice one thing, making him smile against the Inquisitor's plush lips.

_Ah... this height difference does not make kissing him bad at all._

_In fact, it only makes his kiss sweeter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand this was a longer chapter than usual, but they finally wisened up and revealed their feelings to each other! Varric would be so proud (and pleased with the new material for the next chapter of Inquisit Me!). Honestly, I was thinking of ending this story/collection of Pavellan moments when the two of them got together, but I'm a little too attached to these boys, so I think I'll write one or two chapters more! Other than that, thanks so much for reading this story thus far - I'm always so shocked and grateful when people actually click on this story. Means the world to me! :)


	16. Wicked Minds, Warm Hearts

The deceivingly merry music wafted through the thin glass of the Winter palace, spilling out into the outdoor courtyard. The carefully clipped hedges and sculpted foliage stirred in the wind, which carried the scent of gossip and scandal and a hint of death. Gael cursed under his breath when his unnecessarily gaudy attire snagged on a jagged protrusion of ivy as he nimbly climbed up the arrangement, his boots light as he flipped over the edge of the overlying banister. High and obscured from the view of partygoers below, Gael peered down with glowing green eyes, scanning the grounds carefully.

The people were little blobs of colour; Orlesian tastes meant that the ladies were a sea of eye-catching reds, pinks and greens, the gold and silver accents glimmering like faux stars. Masked obscured the face of most guests, though the flirty, sinister and provocative smiles peeking out from beneath them made Gael's pale skin crawl. Some ladies swayed to the music as they sipped on their fine wine while some men tried to woo them. Others, already wooed, were tucked away in dark, shadowy corners of the Winter Palace engaging in some obscene activities, much to the delight of the gossiping nobility. 

Gael's eyes trailed over the courtyard, before resting on a familiar, comforting sight. Dorian's own mouth quirked up as he saw Dorian chatting away with some Orlesian nobility, his back effortlessly poised and his moustache gelled to perfection above his plump, teasing lips. Dorian looked infinitely dashing in the painfully hideous Inquisition attire, at least in Lavellan's eyes; Dorian had disagreed, and said that the red did not do anything for his complexion. He had smiled at Lavellan's straightforward assurance, but had pouted anyway. Gael had quickly indulged him with a quick kiss, immediately wiping away Dorian's pout and replacing it with a smug grin.

As if sensing Gael's warm, impassioned thoughts about him, Dorian's head turned towards Gael's location in the sky, eyes glinting. 

_"What is he talking about with those dithering ladies that has him smirking like a rat?"_ Gael thought, head tilting to the side curiously. Gael gave his vhenan a small nod, before drifting backwards into the darkness. As much as he would like to watch Dorian play with foolish nobles all evening, he had a job to do.

~~~

Dorian almost laughed aloud when he saw Gael creep back into the ballroom like he hadn't been sneaking around in every crevice of the Winter Palace, likely leaving many dead bodies in his wake. Dorian could feel his lover's hands tingle with magic, but his appearance was still immaculate as ever; not one crinkle, not even a drop of blood. Even his hair was still perfectly tied behind his neck in an elaborate braid threaded with gold. How Gael managed to look so beautiful after killing people was always something Dorian teased him about on their adventures, but only when he ran out of things to say about the elf's height (or lack thereof).

Dorian watched with the eyes of a ravenous hawk as Gael, back straight and a nonchalant, ghostly smile on his face, stalked across the ballroom. Dorian could not lie; he had been nervous about this mission, since Gael had grown up in fields and streams, and not in courts and ballrooms. For someone who belonged under the sun, Dorian did not want to see him sullied by the filth of the nobility, for his light to be snuffed out by the Game. However, as always, Gael had proved that once again, he did not need Dorian to worry about him, no matter how easy it was to do so.

Gael chatted with the thick-faced nobles like he was born from the very foundations that they stood upon now, his face neutral but with a hint of tantalising arrogance and mystery. When they had first entered, his elven heritage had garnered quite a lukewarm response. But once the Inquisitor began talking in that surprisingly deep and velvety voice, his otherworldly good-looks and wild charm soon came into the spotlight. Now, the entire court was laying itself at his tiny little feet.

Dorian, though relieved that Gael wasn't being gobbled up by the Game, frowned when he saw Gael's false mask of a smile. It was a smile that Dorian had not seen for a while, not since they had realised their mutual feelings for one another. Dorian never liked seeing Gael smiling like this, like he had swallowed something sour but has to keep on chewing. Gael's smile should be carefree and unbridled, like the man that he is.

Like the man that he should always be.

~~~

Gael ignored the shocked 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as he felt Duchess Florianne's body fall to the ground, his dagger still in her chest. Sighing at the few droplets of blood dribbling onto the toes of his boot, Gael stepped back swiftly and went to have a private chat with Empress Celene. The chat was swift, and as Gael was tired after the laborious evening (more due to of the endless gossiping than the killing), he just wanted to be done with this place and return back to Skyhold. Of course, he would be again detained by Morrigan, but even that conversation was ended hastily by Gael. 

Now, Gael leaned tiredly against a balcony's railing, head resting on an open palm. Gael only turned his head away from the view when Dorian sidled up to him, an amused smile on his face. Gael's fatigue immediately ebbed away at the sight of his lover beside him, and tenderly reached his hand out to grasp Dorian's arm. The warmth of his body through his robes made Gael smile brighter, side-stepping closer to the Tevinter mage to feel more of it.

"What's that cheeky look for, Dorian?" Gael asked, Dorian's grin widening.

"There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters! I told her you'd left already." Dorian chuckled to himself at his deception, making Gael roll his eyes, though he chimed in with a chuckle. "You can thank me later. Or now. But you look lost in thought. Something on your mind?"

Gael sighed, leaning against Dorian's shoulder, snuggling into it like a sleepy cat.

"I'm just worn out," Gael said quietly, nose crinkling. "Tonight has been... very long."

Despite Gael's obvious exhaustion, Dorian still managed to chuckle at the elf's cute expression before speaking. 

"But you won! You saved the day. Literally, the day is saved. You should be celebrating! Enjoy yourself while you can."

_"And I can think of many ways we can enjoy ourselves,"_ Dorian mused to himself, lips twitching. But seeing his lover's eyes begin to droop, Dorian pushed away the gnawing, hungry thoughts in his head and instead softly tugged on Gael's sleeve. 

"What you need is a distraction," Dorian announced, pulling Gael away from the banister, the Inquisitor's eyes widening a fraction, mouth turned down in confusion.

"And that distraction is... what exactly?" Gael said, voice a little nervous as he took in Dorian's overly excited expression. 

"Let's dance," Dorian said simply, and Gael blinked twice before comprehension set in. 

"Dorian, I don't dance!" Gael quickly said, shaking his head as his ears and cheeks reddened. The heat in Dorian's belly flared, but he did not pounce on the small elf, reining himself in. 

"Oh come on, Gael! I saw you traversing those walls, and you are so nimble when killing people, there is no way you would have two left feet," Dorian smiled, his grip around Gael's wrists tightening as the man tried to escape. 

"Dorian, I really can't dance!" Gael's voice raised in pitch as Dorian pulled him into a tight embrace, locking the Inquisitor into his chest. 

"Hmph, so you'll dance with Duchess Florianne, but not with your lover? My, the Inquisitor, an adulteress? What a scandal!"

"A-adulteress?! Who are you calling an adulteress, you arrogant little... little... little cow dung nug face!" Gael's face was bright red as he continued to struggle and squirm, but Dorian was not giving in an inch. 

"You won't be an adulteress if you dance with me. Come," Dorian said, dropping his teasing tone to one more coaxing, his tongue oozing honey-like sweetness to try and pull his spitfire Inquisitor into the languid melody of the waltz. Gael's face ballooned as he sucked in a breath, holding it before releasing, glaring at Dorian as he did so.

"Fine," Gael huffed, before pointedly stepping on Dorian's feet. Dorian winced, but managed to smile as Gael gripped his shoulders, lightening his weight on Dorian's feet. Stepping for the two of them, Dorian was delighted when Gael's stubbornly displeased face slowly slipped away, revealing a tender smile as the two slowly twirled together on the balcony, moving as one.

"See? You can dance," Dorian said, gently leaning down to kiss Gael on the tip of his nose. Gael just let out a lacklustre 'hmph', leaning his weight against Dorian's chest. 

As they danced and danced, time seemed to slip away. It was not until the music stopped that Dorian finally released Gael, the elf stepping down from his feet with a relaxed, true smile on his face.

_Ah, that's the smile I wanted to see._

Dorian stared at Gael with an odd look in his eye, Gael asking him what he was thinking about. Dorian just smirked, and stepped closer to his amatus.

"Hm, just thinking that you standing on my toes really raised your height by a few inches. It was quite the new experience," Dorian quipped. Gael's face twisted and exploded, his swift heel slamming down on Dorian's toes, this time his strength unfurled without restraint.

_"Fenedhis_ , Dorian! You are impossible!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hitting you with that speedy (at least, according to my track record) update! Thanks for reading! Unfortunately, this is the second last chapter of this story, so it will all end after the next one... It'll probably be a short and sweet conclusion that wraps things up, since I think I've given my boys enough angst already. Thank you for sticking with this story until this point - you guys are the best!


	17. Short, and Infinitely Sweet

The music from the celebrations trickled up the stony stairs, but Gael and Dorian were too preoccupied with each other to hear it. Gael's melodic laugh floated upwards, filling the room with his timbre. Dorian's heart was seized when Gael slipped his slender finger under the buckle of his leather bodice, tugging him firmly towards him. The two kissed, mouths and tongue hungry, before allowing their bodies to fall onto the Inquisitor's large, velvety bed.

The two felt and embraced each other with frenzied, shaking hands; to touch each other was to confirm that the other was there, warm and alive. Yes, they were alive; Gael had defeated Corypheus, and saved all of Thedas in doing so. But Dorian could not care about this at all - he was just relieved that Gael was alive, and here in his arms. The green mark still burned bright, but its glow was swallowed up by Gael's own forest eyes, reflecting Dorian's image in their depthless pupils.

"I love you, Dorian," Gael says, his voice soft but resolute, like it was the undeniable, unchanging truth of the universe. These simple words, in a world full of uncertainty, were etched in stone.

Dorian just hummed, kissing the lips that uttered such passionate and powerful words with renewed vigour. The two could barely say anything as they held each other in the sheets, silence taking them even after they were spent. Holding his Inquisitor close and pulling the blankets over their bare shoulders, Dorian ran his fingers through his lover's hair, occasionally planting kisses along the sharp lines of his face.

"Hah, do you think they are looking for us down there?" Gael asked, his eyes moving towards the door to his chambers, though his body remained still and languid in Dorian's arms. Knowing that Gael had no intention of leaving him now, Dorian smirked and raised his body over the smaller elf's, trapping him.

"Are you thinking of leaving me here, Inquisitor? Bored of my company already?"

"Well, it _is_ a celebration, and I _am_ the guest of honour," Gael said, mirroring Dorian's playful expression on his face. "I did defeat a darkspawn magister, and saved Thedas. No big deal."

"Corypheus? You dare think of another man while you're in bed, here, with me? The audacity," Dorian said, raising a brow as he stared at the Inquisitor, who giggled in response. 

"Oh, are you mad, _vhenan_?" Gael asked through his laughter, pinching the end of Dorian's moustache merrily.

"Yes, and I have a few choice things to say to you. Two things, in particular," Dorian said, pulling his throat in to create an air of seriousness, though the expression on his face was anything but. Gael, intrigued, kept his mouth closed as he nodded, urging Dorian to continue. Before speaking, Dorian gingerly nipped the tip of Gael's nose.

"First, you are terribly dull and I hate you," Dorian said, eyes alight with mirth. Gael's mouth curled upwards. 

"Oh, is that so?" Gael laughed, before he roughly grabbed Dorian by the collar, his legs locking with the taller mage's. It took all but a blink for Gael to push upwards with his battle-honed strength, flipping the two of them over on the plush bedding. Gael hovered over Dorian's body, his hair falling in white wisps over his rosy cheeks, his pink tongue flicking out to run across his mouth slowly. Dorian gulped when Gael leaned down, pressing those moist buds to his, the flavour sweet and inviting. 

Pulling back after a teasing, brief taste, Gael's fingers gently rubbed the exposed, sun-kissed skin on Dorian's neck. 

"And what's the second?"

Dorian gazed up at Gael, drinking in this man like a beggar adrift in a desert. Raising his hands up to cup Gael's cheeks, his thumb running over his skin with such tender pressure that it made the elf's heart ache, Dorian's throat closed up and his stomach twisted. A chorus of emotions sprung up inside him, and for a second he was overwhelmed. These things that he felt for this man, and this man alone, could not have been put into words, even if Dorian wanted to try.

He had watched this man leap into danger time and time again, and had thought him lost just as many times. He had felt fear like he had never felt before, and grief he prayed he would never feel again. No matter how many times he touched his skin, or felt his lips on his, Dorian could not shake the haunting nightmare of losing this man that he loved so much. His _amatus_. And oh, how much he loved him. Desperately, insanely, consumingly. Dorian had not said this aloud enough times, but he hoped that Gael could hear his silent cries every time he looked at him. 

And he thinks he does hear him, for when Gael catches Dorian's grey eyes, so full to the brim with his feelings, he always wears that secret smile that is reserved only for Dorian to see. 

"The second thing, Dorian?" Gael urged, his voice dropping to a whisper as he laid his hand over the one trembling on his cheek, moonlit paleness against Dorian's burning sun.

But now, with his throat closed up and his eyes growing hot, all Dorian can do is smile and speak words that say one thing but read another.

"I wish you were taller."

The words hung dangerously in the air, and Dorian hoped that his _amatus_ could hear his hidden voice. His fears disappeared when Gael just smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, his elf leaning down to kiss him again. This time, Gael's lips lingered in silent understanding, and Dorian could hear the unspoken words his _amatus_ murmured in his heart.

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked Dorian's teasing, sarcastic comments at the end of DA:I, and feel that it's something just so Dorian. So, of course, I had to include some of that in this final chapter... with just a little tweak since Gael, as always, is our short little Inquisitor.
> 
> But that's it for this short little story! I hope you enjoyed the ride, and I am so thankful that you guys even clicked on this story at all! But, while Gael and Dorian's story has (sort of) ended, I'm actually writing up a spin-off to this story, called 'The Hunt for Great Things' - it will feature original characters (including Alaric) but also feature cameos from some of our favourites (including Gael and Dorian)!
> 
> Hope to see you in the next one~

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing fanfiction - hope you enjoyed.


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